


And Some Would Go Mad

by Flying_Blackbird



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Episode: s12e01-02 Spyfall, Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Everything gets better when you add Jack Harkness, Slight AU version of the Master, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28691403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flying_Blackbird/pseuds/Flying_Blackbird
Summary: The Master is back.He infiltrates the MI6, posing as O, betraying the Doctor and eventually leading her to a burning Gallifrey.All the time, an old friend of hers is never far.Captain Jack Harkness has fallen into the Master's hands, forced to watch as he commits one atrocity after another.He's determined to stop him by any means necessary, until, underneath the Master's uncontrolled rage, Jack discovers someone he can unexpectedly relate to.
Relationships: The Master/Jack Harkness, The Master/The Doctor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WinterTheWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/gifts).



> Hey everyone!  
> I have never attempted a fic quite this big before. 
> 
> I'm trying to tell a story of who the Master really is, using the headcanons of my dear friend [Winter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/profile) who has generously allowed me to use their ideas and our interactions on their [Twitter RP Account](https://twitter.com/StandsOnHigh) in my own story. We'll also take a deep dive into the mind and past of our dear Captain, who is the lens through which I tell most of the story. There's not much else I can say without spoiling the interesting bits, so just come along for the ride! If you love Doctor Who and Torchwood, there will be something for you in here.  
> With the Master being the Master, there will be a generous amount of violence, torture and general toxicity up ahead. I'll make sure to add content and trigger warnings in the top notes so you can skip parts that may bother you, and give a brief summary when necessary in the bottom notes.
> 
> Enjoy! x

THE MONA LISA, LOTUS NEBULA, YEAR 5132

The Mona Lisa Resort in the Lotus Nebula, notoriously known for offering the experience of seventeen simultaneous pleasures, was not a place the Doctor thought she’d ever find herself in.

The space station which surpasses Satellite 5 in size with its 520 floors, spread out over three different compartments, was founded by humans and human-descendents, and as such caters mostly to them, offering goods and services of all kinds as well as lodging for those who have the money.

The Doctor, much as she could go for some entertainment and relaxation after her recent adventure, has no mind for any of that. She is here on a business matter- a Doctoring matter, to be exact. Received a message on her psychic paper, and there’s only a handful of people strewn across the universe who would know how to do that, so needless to say, she’s curious.

It spelled out two words, repeating over and over: IKARUS – COME.

Now, the Doctor doesn’t know an Ikarus. Of course, she knows _the_ Ikarus, from Greek legend, but he'd be a couple millennia out of his time unless his father invented a time machine along with those wings he built and, ah, never mind. Where was her train of thought going before it derailed itself? There’s a bunch of companies and enterprises and whatnot that go by the name, which is unfortunate if you think about how Ikarus is most known for his failure. That’s like building a spaceship and naming it Titanic- hang on, that _did_ happen. Just goes to show how easily humans forget. 

She had traced the signal to the coordinates of its origin and ended up here: Mona Lisa Resort, Floor 001, compartment A, Tardis in parking, Custard Cream ingested, off she goes.  
Has she been mumbling to herself? That’s why she needs companions! Can’t look like a madman _all_ of the time.

Oh, there’s a touchscreen by the door. _Welcome to Mona Lisa. What are your pronouns, and how do you identify?_  
Bit of a loaded question. So many options! She’s comfortable where she’s at, though. _The Doctor, female._  
The keyboard on the touchscreen vanishes and a pleasant voice greets her while the doors to the entrance hall open. _"Welcome, Doctor. Enjoy your stay."_

"Thanks!"  
Hands in her pockets, she wanders into the entrance hall. The interior design feels warm, cosy and luxurious, like you'd expect from a high-class hotel. Only thing it lacks is a little shop, but she's sure that shopping is one of the several pleasures offered in this place. Humans do love their shopping sprees.

"Hello!", she beams at a well-tanned lady at one of the reception desks who waves her over with a pleasant smile. “I’d like to book a stay, for, oh well, I don’t know yet. However long it takes, really. Time isn't of the essence for me, ironically ..”  
She trails off, a chance which the receptionist seizes to get a word in after a glance at her monitor.  
“That’s no problem, ma’am. Welcome to Mona Lisa, the heart of the Lotus Nebula.” She hands her a tablet and a pen. “Please, make yourself comfortable in the lounge. Feel free to order a snack and/or beverage while you simply enter your preferences and whatever you think may be important, and we will take care of the rest for you. We wish you a pleasant™ stay!”

Oooh, what was that? That inflection on “pleasant” sounded like she’d been saying it seventeen times at once. Does the staff use voice layering nanophone implants? She should be getting one of those! The amount of thinking out loud she could be doing!

“Thanks- Paola.”, she responds after a quick glance at her name tag, which Paola responds to with a surprised, genuine smile. Being nice to the staff doesn't seem to be a regular thing around here, the Doctor notes. Count on her to change that. 

She settles down in what has to be the most comfortable armchair she has ever had the pleasure to sit in. It’s soft, but not so soft that you sink down too much, supporting her body in what is undoubtedly the best condition for her spine, it’s _warm_ , and while she’s scrolling through the form on the tablet she can feel it spot knots in her back and gently massage them away. It even takes note of her ticklish spots and avoids them. For a while, the Doctor considers abandoning her curiosity and staying in this chair forever and sleep. At least for a little while? She could use the nap.

She really has to pull herself together and focus- it’s a dangerous thing to relax too much, especially when she’s suspecting a trap, which she _is_.

The list of preferences she can choose to select is long, interesting, and sometimes mildly disturbing. Humans do get _so_ creative. Eventually she settles on the ones that will take her around the space station the most and let her interact with as many residents and staff as possible. Music, sports, plays, games, food, all-inclusive SPA, a library- a library! art exhibits, exhibit exhibits… , this should give her a tour of the entire place. She enters “2 nights, single bedroom” for her stay, signs the form and pays by sonicing the tablet. Digital currency is fake, anyway.

Paola takes the tablet and transfers her data, then takes a small silvery orb out of a drawer and hands it to her. “This is a pocket Gary. Are you familiar?”  
The Doctor receives the orb and blinks. “Pardon?”

“ G.A.R.R.I. is the interactive database our resort works with to ensure our customers’ pleasure™.”, Paola explains. “Gary, introduce yourself.”

The orb in the Doctor’s hand lights up and hums, and a soft neutral voice starts to speak.  
“Greetings. I am the Generalised Assessment, Response and Review Interface. Please call me Gary. Would you like a tutorial of my functions and abilities?”  
The Doctor _beams_ at the shiny orb on her palm. “Ohh, that’s clever! Love an acronym!”

Paola smiles. “You will find GARRI interfaces throughout the Mona Lisa compound. They’re all connected to our main servers and constantly collect and review input from our customers. This pocket Gary is your personal assistant and will adapt according to your interactions with him.”

“Please call me Gary.”, the orb repeats. “How may I address you?”  
“I’m the Doctor.”, the Doctor says, waving at Paola who is busy greeting the next customer, a broad-shouldered blonde guy.

“Welcome, Doctor.” Gary lifts up off her palm and hovers at the level of her eyes. “Would you like a tour of the services you have selected?”  
“Yes, Gary.”, she responds, still beaming as she steps through the entrance. “I would like that very much.”

***

LATER THAT DAY,  
FLOOR 010, COMPARTMENT B – THOUSAND SPRINGS POOL

“It’s a bit empty in here, isn’t it?”, the Doctor muses while she walks through the amazing SPA facilities.  
The air is warm and steamy, and the sound of dripping and flowing water echoes from the tiled walls. “The whole B compartment’s been a bit lacking in visitors, in fact. No-one in the library, alright, maybe people aren't in the mood for reading, but the restaurant platform and the casino with the view of the supernova were empty as well .. Gary, how many people are currently on the station?”

“One thousand and seventy-five, Doctor.”

The Doctor keeps walking, past a gigantic bubbling hot tub towards a room filled with so much steam that she can barely see where she’s going. “And how many of them are in this compartment?” She glances around until she spots the steamers generating the thick mist, aiming her screwdriver at them.

“Five, Doctor.”, comes Gary’s reply, just as she turns off the heaters. As the steam clears, She sees three silhouettes on the far side of the room, standing around a fourth one on their knees.

As she comes closer, she sees that it’s three men, forcing the head of the fourth one under water. When they notice her approaching, they stop what they’re doing, and she finds herself at gunpoint. The man on the floor does not move, his upper body floating face down in the water.

Slowly, under the pretense of holding up her hands, the Doctor reaches for pocket Gary and turns him off, letting him slide into her sleeve.

“Who are you?”, one of the men bellows. He’s wearing an all-black suit, the Mona Lisa logo printed on his upper arm. They're either security guards or pool attendants, and the Doctor has yet to meet a pool attendant carrying a gun and taser.

“I’m the Doctor.”, she replies. "Sorry, clearly stumbled in on something important here. I don’t suppose you know an Ikarus?”

She watches a jolt go through the three men as they grip their weapons tighter. Ha, interesting.  
Just as she’s about to say something else, the body on the floor suddenly starts thrashing, emerging from the water under coughs and sputters. One of the men grabs him and pulls him to his feet, pressing the muzzle of his gun against his side.  
The Doctor feels a familiar pins-and-needles sensation bothering her time sense, and while their victim still coughs up water, her eyes widen as she recognizes him.

Standing there, dripping wet and a lot slimmer than she remembers him, is Captain Jack Harkness.

“Alright, you've got some explainin' to do.”, she demands, raising her screwdriver. "And you better let this man go before you start."

“That’s not going to happen.”, the first guy replies, still aiming his gun at her. “He hacked our security systems, rendering the interfaces in the whole Compartment useless. Says he’s looking for someone, and now so are we. He will be dealt with, ma’am, if you’d just safely return to Compartment A while we restore order.”

"Yeah, that's _also_ not going to happen, mate. Last time I checked, you don't drown people for breaking and entering. If you need help, I'm here to help. If _he_ needs help, I'm going to stop you."

“Fancy meeting you here, Doctor.”, Jack wheezes, straining against the hold of the security guys. “I was wondering if you’d show up, but I really wish you’d stay out of this one. Not everything is about you, you know. By the way, guys, she _really_ doesn’t like guns.”

"Shut up.", one of the guards barks, nudging him with the gun. The one still aiming at her lowers his, at least.  
"Ma'am- Doctor-, do you know anything about the matter that you can share with us?"

“Doesn’t make sense”, the Doctor frowns, completely ignoring the question while her brain runs a mile a minute. “Somebody called Ikarus sent for me. I’m going to find him.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Doc.” Jack’s still catching his breath, searching her gaze. “ _I_ am Ikarus." He continues before she can voice her confusion. "But the message wasn’t from me, it’s _for_ me. Just so happened to reach you, as well. Psychic paper, same frequency.”  
He shrugs, coughs some more, then straightens himself. "Like I said, it's not about you."

The Doctor's frown deepens. "But who called you? And if it's a mutual friend, why don't you want my help?"

To her surprise, Jack laughs. 

“Because I’m here to save the Master.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: In case anyone noticed, yes the pocket Gary is a reference to the The Adventure Zone arc Graduation, DMed by Travis McElroy. If you like DnD or fantasy stories in general and inexplicably don't know them yet, check out their podcast!


	2. Paralyzed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets a sweet bloke who calls himself O.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> This is where the actual story starts, taking a rather large leap back in time. It may feel a bit disconnected from the Prologue, which is because it is. It's all about the How-Did-We-Get-Here, and hoo boy is that a long roller-coaster of a journey.
> 
> Imo this chapter doesn't go beyond Torchwood's canon-typical violence, so there are no skipping marks in this one.  
> Enjoy! x

40 YEARS AGO, CARDIFF, 2012

"Oh hello! Sir? Excuse me, Sir, could you help me a moment?" 

Jack had left the empty hub to get some fresh air, as he does when the silence gets too loud. He'll patrol the city, look for minor alien problems, weevil issues et cetera, just maintenance things, and then spend a few hours at a pub just to be around people. He turns when spoken to, and readily stops his afternoon stroll for the dapper individual in front of him in the center of the pavement. He looks Bangladeshi, elegant in his suit, yet smiles with an air of self-consciousness, hands clasped together in front of him.

 _With eyes like yours, you can have all my moments._ "Sure! What's the matter? Captain Jack Harkness, at your service." Always works. He's adding a grin for good measure.

The other man's smile widens and he takes a step towards Jack. "I just - well, I, er," Jack can’t help but be charmed by his stammer, "I just appear to be rather _lost_ , you see. Regarding ... everything. Cardiff is bigger than I expected, and I wondered if you might show me around?"

"Oh dear. Of course." It’s not like he has anything more important on his schedule. Jack shoves his hands into his coat pockets, giving the other a warm smile. "Were you headed anywhere in particular?"

"Oh, thank you! _Thank you_ , you're so kind. Honestly, I'm rather _puckish_. Would be interested in finding someplace to eat? I'm in the mood for something hot, if that's alright." He bites his lower lip, eyes darting away shyly. 

It’s adorable. However, Jack's easily charmed, but not _gullible_ — he senses there's something off about this guy. He's not alarmed enough to deny himself some fun, however. If this goes south, he’s sure he can drop a retcon or two in his drink and make him forget he’s ever met him.

One hand re-emerges from his pocket and settles on the shorter man's shoulder. "I know _just_ the place. By the way— didn't catch your name."

"Yes, of course!" The other grins up a him as he holds out a hand. "My name is O. It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain."

"Pleasure's all mine.", Jack returns smoothly, shaking his hand. All the innuendos pop up after he learns that curious name, but he holds them back. Bit _too much_. "Shall we? There's a decent Greek place down the road, and an Italian one a few blocks further. Depends on how fancy you’re feeling.“

“I follow your lead,” O insists, gesturing broadly in front of them. He seems relaxed, almost a little giddy to be around Jack.

"Italian it is, then. I could die for some tortellini.", Jack decides, starting to walk down the road. He's still guarded. He doesn't trust easily as is, and this guy popping up out of nowhere, saying he's lost only to immediately agree on dinner with Jack? Nah ... he knows who Jack is, most probably. At least heard of him, and Torchwood. But maybe he's harmless despite that. Jack's going to bring it up over dinner.

O keeps close as they walk and looks curiously at everything they pass, especially when Jack points certain things out to him, like he’s making mental notes of every location. “Haven’t had good Italian in _years_ ,” O tells him earnestly. There’s something about the way he says it that strikes Jack as strange, like it’s an inside joke he isn’t getting.

***

They end up in Jack’s favourite Italian place, at a table by the window, chatting over red wine and pasta. O is secretive about his occupation at first, until he sets down his fork with a little sigh and looks up at Jack. “I guess I can tell you. I haven’t been quite honest, Captain, I do know who you are.”

Finally. Jack puts down his wine glass and leans forward expectantly, a little smile tugging on his lips. “Your secrets will be safe with me. Promise.”

O fiddles with his napkin, then straightens it out on the table, playing with the stem of his wineglass instead. He seems to have a lot of nervous energy stored up inside him. “I’m with the MI6.”, he says in a low voice. “I work as an analyst, and from time to time I stumble upon extraterrestrial things.”

“Oh, I see. So that’s what’s up with the single letter name.” Jack smirks. “And is that how you learned about me?”

“That’s how I learned about Torchwood.”, O nods. “This whole thing with the children and the 456 …” He pauses and shakes his head. He must’ve noticed Jack’s expression darkening, because his eyes widen again. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. Anyway, the alien contact stuff was mostly in the hands of MI5 and UNIT, but after the explosion at Roald Dahl Plass we worked in collaboration to figure out how to handle it. Treating it as a possible terrorist attack in the news, and all that.”

He waves his hand, then it returns to his wine glass. Jack takes a deep breath and pushes the haunting memories away. “Yeah. “

“--Everyone was even more secretive than usual during that time, so of course I got curious and looked into it. Into you and your team. I’m so sorry for what’s been done to you.”  
There’s that shy, self-conscious smile again. 

“Thanks.” Jack briefly smiles back and finishes his wine. The pasta sits heavily in his stomach now, and he tries to find a way to turn this conversation away from the worst week of his life.  
“So why come to Cardiff now?”

“To see you.” O’s big, dark eyes rest on Jack’s face, all soft and open. He’s got gorgeous eyes, and there’s something in their depth which holds Jack’s attention. “I don’t want to sound like a stalker, but knowing as much as I do, I’ve had a bit of a crush on you for years.”

Jack holds his gaze for a moment, questioning, then leans in and smiles. “So do you have a place to spend the night?”

O’s eyes drop to his lips ever so briefly before they come back up to meet his. “I do, in fact. Staying at a hotel a couple blocks from here, but it does get lonely.”

***

Jack’s mind is a little more at ease now that O has confessed who he is and how he knows him. Still not clear on whether he'll pose a threat, and it's not like Jack would lead _anyone_ into the hub without doing a thorough background check. Which would probably turn out unsuccessful, given that the only thing he has to work with is a single vowel. Pillow talk it is, then, at the hotel O is currently staying at. Jack is _not_ objecting.

It’s a run-of-the-mill hotel at the edge of Cardiff, one that Jack has never really noticed before. O leads Jack inside and up the lift, all shy smiles and big eyes. What confidence he has found during their dinner seems to have evaporated, and Jack tells himself to take it slow, let him take the lead. He might not want this to be a one-time thing.

“This—this is my room,” O stammers, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he opens the door.

Jack feels like he knows this hotel, although it's strange that he can't remember ever being here. He doesn't dwell on it though, his memory is patchy that way. Plus, he's busy flirting with the handsome stranger. "You're still sure about this, right?", he makes sure with a warm tone and an even warmer smile as he follows O inside.

“Oh, I couldn’t be _more_ sure,” O reassures him, letting the door swing shut. He claps his hands together gleefully and takes a deep breath, then turns to Jack all breathless and flirty. He really does look a little star-struck, it’s endearing. “Come over here, _Captain_.”

Jack crosses the distance with self-assured steps, reaching up to cup the other's face. He's warm and soft and smells nice and Jack's going to make him very happy. "I do love being called that.~" His eyes flicker down to O's lips, smirk still in place as he leans in.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” O hums, leaning in to close the space between him—then the next thing Jack knows is the stab of a syringe as the other plunges it right into the back of Jack’s neck.

He gives a gasp of surprise (funnily enough, it sounds like "oh"), reaching up to his neck, but whatever it is he’s been injected with takes effect _fast_. His arm slows its movement halfway through and he feels his knees give, staring at O with betrayal and confusion mixing in his eyes.

“Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack.” O tuts, bearing the Captain’s weight as he carelessly drags him over and flops him down onto the bed. It’s like a facade has fallen, and the formerly so self-conscious MI6 analyst grins manically at him as he trails a mocking, soft fingertip down his cheek.

Jack finds he can’t move, yet all his senses are very alert and receptive. Time to start worrying.

“You _really_ didn’t recognize me, hmm? I’m shocked. _Offended_ , even! I mean, you should be _used_ to the way we can change our bodies.” He grabs a pair of scissors from the bedside table, confirming for Jack that he’s prepared all of this. He _could_ just unbutton Jack’s shirt, but the alternative of cutting the fabric off is apparently too fun to pass up.  
Who is he? Jack's made many enemies in his long, long life, but-  
Wait, _change our bodies?_

“Suppose you’ll need a reminder. Let’s make sure you don’t forget your _Master_ ever again.”

_No._

_Now_ Jack’s terrified.

His whole world turns upside down so fast the second he realizes who 'O' really is, dread settling heavily in his gut. Memories flash behind his eyes, of being chained aboard the Valiant, of watching his friends die, which never happened, except it _did_. Only capable of micro-expressions, Jack goes for rage instead of fear, glaring at the Timelord.  
What does he want this time? And why from _Jack_? Does his return mean the Doctor is around as well? Did he really infiltrate MI6? How else would he know about the 456? He's got a lot of questions, but his throat won't comply.  
It will in time. His body will fight off whatever he's been injected with, always does.

The Master flicks away the shredded remains of Jack’s shirt before trailing the blade of the scissors down Jack’s stomach. 

Jack wants to quip about the Master's eagerness to get him out of his clothes, wants to talk for the sake of talking, best way to combat anxiety-- simply talk over it, drown it out, but he _can't_ , he's forced to listen without talking back, can't do more than shiver when the blade glides over his skin.

“Now, I know you must be scared,” the Master tells him, the way one would a child, “but I _promise_ you —,” he leans down with a shark-like grin, “—...you have _every_ reason to be.” with a twist, the blade cuts into the soft give of Jack’s stomach before he twists it sharply.

\--Can't talk, can’t fight, can’t arch away from the stabbing pain, can't, can't, _can't_ \-- he _screams_ , or tries to. The sounds is reduced to a pained grunt, giving no relief to the tightening knot in his chest.  
This is going to be _bad_.

“What a pretty sound!” The Master praises, giggling like a child playing with its toy. Blood pools and spills over the blade and he makes sure Jack’s eyes are on him as he casually lifts it up and licks it off. “Let’s see what other sounds I can get from you, hmm? Tell you what - if you want me to stop, just say it. Just say, ‘Please stop, Master,’ and I’ll let you go. Swear it. Promise it! Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

Jack watches in disgust, then narrows his eyes ever so slightly as if to say _very funny_. He's reminded of the law court of Astadia, where they're forced by tradition to give the culprit a chance to speak, but the person in question usually is gagged, has their lips stitched shut or been silenced some other way. Not that Jack would give him the satisfaction of begging, anyway. Not yet. He's not above it if it means saving himself a significant amount of pain, but with this guy? Jack knows his games. He'd add insult to injury by lying about stopping.

The Master’s laugh is piercingly loud as he mocks the look on Jack’s silly, silly face. “Well now, darling, if you _insist_.” And to punctuate that, he’s getting to work carving something across Jack’s chest in big, deep, jagged gashes. His name, Jack realises. It’s even in cursive.

Jack wants to twist and struggle, _fight back somehow_ , but the Master of course knows him well enough to avoid giving him that chance. Can't fight his way out of it, can't _talk_ his way out of it, how else can he defy him? Right- by staying silent. Lack of response should make this boring.

Jack steels himself and makes no sound even as he quivers, _challenge_ shining in his eyes. Though what he also knows from experience is that he really, _really_ shouldn't challenge him. 

Oh, the Master hates being bored. His manic grin twists into a furious grimace and he suddenly drops the scissors and grabs Jack by the throat, squeezing it _tight_ as he leans in close. “Do you remember the year that never was?” he whispers harshly. “How I made you watch as I killed each and every single one of your friends? Poor Gwen. She believed in you so _much_.” 

His tongue trails a slow line up the length of Jack’s jaw. “It’s good she can’t remember how you _failed her_.” His nails cut into Jack’s skin as he speaks and he punctuates it all with another dark laugh, right into his ear.

Jack breathes in measured gasps that turn shallow as his vision starts to fade to gray, intensified by the new wave of panic.  
_Gwen_. Gwen and Rhys and Anwen-- are they in danger? As long as the Master is on this planet, they are. He needs to keep his attention on _him_ , then. Stay _fun_.  
There's his mission statement, there's his cause: Play along with the Master’s games to protect his friends. 

He can do that.  
For them, he could do anything. 

It's his last thought before he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [Winter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/profile), because this story wouldn't exist without their portrayal of O/The Master, and a lot of the dialogue you'll see from him was actually written by them.


	3. No Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is familiar with pain. That doesn't make it any easier to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Right, so I'm not entirely sure how to go about this whole trigger/content warning thing. This chapter contains some graphic violence, the meat of which I have placed in between these borders:
> 
> ════ ⋆★⋆ ════  
> upsetting part goes here,  
> once you've scrolled past to the next one you can continue reading.  
> ════ ⋆★⋆ ════
> 
> However, there's some plot in there, too. I'm telling you the kind of upsetting stuff that's happening in the marked paragraphs in the bottom notes so you can decide for yourself whether or not you want to read it after all. Please feel free to give me advice on how to handle this in the comments!
> 
> In the meantime, as always, enjoy x

Jack has passed out, not died, so the stuff the Master injected him with is still in his system when he wakes up. It wore off a little, but his attempts to move are sluggish. Also, the Master apparently used the meantime to tie his arms and legs to each bedpost. In another place and another time, most importantly with someone else, this might be the promising start to a fun night.  
But he has a feeling that the only one who's going to have fun today is the Master.

The pain from his chest and stomach has receded to a dull throbbing as flesh knits itself back together, so the new, sharp stabbing sensation in his nail-bed feels amplified, drawing the attention of his entire nervous system to a single point. He blinks, grateful that his eyes got some rest, to discover that some kind of spike is lodged under his thumbnail. It sends little jolts of pain up through his arm and his heart sinks, remembering fingernail-related interrogation techniques he himself has inflicted on others, in another life, when he was a much different person.  
He tests his bonds with a weak tug, then swallows, attempting to speak. "That ... that all you got?"

The Master is sitting on the edge of the bed, flicking a lighter on and off absently as he watches Jack’s futile attempts to gain some semblance of control. With a low laugh, he rises and comes back to Jack’s side - the side with a spike in his thumb, of course - and he kneels down next to the bed so they’re eye-level.  
“Do you want to know a secret, Jack?” He whispers softly, eyes wide and earnest. A mockery of O. “A really deep secret?” Of course, he doesn’t give Jack a chance to respond before he’s pressing a deceptively soft kiss to Jack’s cheek. “That spike isn’t just a spike. It’s a _match_.”

Breathe, Jack. Deep breaths. He flinches away from the kiss deliberately-- if the Master believes Jack doesn't want him close, he'll come closer. If he believes his touch disgusts Jack, he'll lean into that ... and they can go from there. Sex is a weapon. Always will be. 

"D-do you smoke? if .. if you needed a light .. you could've asked.", he quips, watching the flame. He's had worse. he's had worse, he's had worse, he's had-- _Fuck_.

The Master watches the panic rise in his victim with visible enjoyment. He lets his lips ghost along Jack’s skin for another moment before he stands and flicks on the lighter, holding it tantalizingly close to the matchstick in his thumb. “Oh, Jack. Your sense of humor does _so_ liven up the torture.”  
And then he.... He.... doesn't move? For just a moment, Jack swears he can see something else than sadistic joy flash across the Master's eyes.  
But then it passes, and the match ignites with a hiss.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Jack's too preoccupied with the heat of the flame traveling towards his thumb to dwell on that hesitation.  
It's just pain.  
He's familiar with pain.  
_It never gets any easier._

He twitches and makes a pained noise, _squirming_ when the tip of his thumb is singed, then turns his next outcry into something akin to a laugh. It helps relieve tension. He does that a lot when he's facing torture or prolonged pain of any kind, in the phase where he still dares to be cocky.

The Master leans in as close as he can to the flame, like he's hypnotised by the fire, and inhales deeply.  
“ _Oh_ , do you smell that, Captain?” The Master _moans_ at it. “I can smell your flesh as it burns off the bone. I do so _love_ a barbecue, don’t you?” He licks his lips while the flame continue to burn down Jack's thumb, unperturbed by the noise he makes.  
"I-- I don't have-- .. cannibalistic... tendencies..." Jack grits out, writhing in his bonds. Maybe it'll put out the flame. Fuck, it _burns_. Unwanted tears sting his eyes. He cries out again, instinctively arching away from the pain now that his body allows for it.

The Master is whistling a mindless tune as he grabs another syringe and flicks out the air bubbles- and stabs it without ceremony into Jack’s shoulder. And then, a moment later, he snubs out the flame with a hard squeeze of his fingers. Pain _explodes_ up Jack's arm. His responding scream lifts his back off the mattress and leaves his throat feeling raw.  
Catching his breath while the paralyzing agent kicks in and makes it harder, Jack watches in horror and disgust as the Master sucks his thumb into his mouth with a lewd pop.

With every muscle in his chest locking once again, Jack's expressions of pain are reduced to a _whimper_. A tear trickles down his temple, his eyes red-rimmed but still bright and alert. He tracks the Timelord's movements, anticipating what might come next. Pushing the pain back down, reminding himself of who he is and how he handles situations like these. He's Captain Jack Harkness, for fuck's sake.

The Master's glittering eyes are fixed on the teardrop before he leans down and _licks_ it off. “My name’s on your chest for as long as you live,” he murmurs in a quiet voice, like they’re lovers early in the morning. “Luckily for you, that’s not very long. Luckily for _me_ , well. ...I can just do it again. And again. And again.” The Master grabs the scissors to trail them so softly through the mess of blood on Jack’s chest and stomach, just tracing the metal against broken skin.

Nerve ends that shouldn't be exposed to the air flare up where they're touched by the tool, firing constantly. The Master's voice is soothing. Jack _lets_ it soothe him. His eyes don't follow the blade, stay fixed on the Timelord's face, awake and observant. He's tense as a bowstring, awaiting the next stab.  
_Why?_ If he could at least ask him that. Why lure him into this trap? Why now? Is this nothing but entertainment? If only he could catch his breath enough, use his voice enough to try and get some intel.

“What should I do next, hmm? What should I—,” the Master's face spasms, briefly, and this time Jack is _sure_ he's seen it, so much horror and sadness and grief and _pain_ , and then he shakes his head and the look is gone, “—do to this _fragile_ body of yours?” The scissors hover above Jack’s bellybutton for a second before he is _stabbing_ down and dragging sharply to the left.  
Jack doesn't have time to react because he's too busy s c r e a m i n g . It doesn't come out right, neither do the coughs that follow as his mouth fills with blood. _This will kill him_. Slowly, but it will. it hurts _it hurts. it HURTS_.

The timelord's slender hand shoves roughly into the wound the scissors created and he grabs a handful of _everything_ , yanking up with a feral snarl.

Talk about feeling _gutted_. Jack wants to laugh hysterically at his own joke, but he's too busy going into shock. It's just pain. He's familiar with pain. His brain supplies him with a quote of Orwell's 1984: _Of pain you could wish only one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes.  
Ain't that true._

With his hand still buried inside Jack’s torso, the Master leans in to hover over him, their noses nearly touching. His eyes are wide like he can’t believe what he’s just done, mouth open in shock and horror, fake as it melts into a wide, wide grin. “ _Whoops_.”

Jack barely feels anything anymore. His brain floods his body with adrenaline and endorphins until he's high, drifting towards unconsciousness, pupils fully dilated. His eyes crinkle, unconsciously mirroring the smile.

“There you go, little freak,” the Master purrs, gentle and soothing in contrast with the way he rips between Jack’s intestines. “Nighty-night. I need a blank slate.”

Jack's eyes roll back in time with his eyelids falling shut, and he sinks into blissful oblivion.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Time passes, as it is wont to do. Someone cleans Jack’s healed body of blood and guts. Someone undid the bindings on just one hand so Jack can reach the full glass of water someone put on the bedside table, and a pack of crisps. The room is empty otherwise.

Jack gets dragged back into life eventually. He wakes with a gasp, slowly remembering where he is, and the sinking feeling of dread returns before long. He takes the water, not caring if it's tainted, but doesn't touch the food. He'll only get sick.  
Where is he? Exactly? Is this a TARDIS? Can he communicate with it? Where's the Master? Jack closes his eyes and listens for the familiar background hum.  
There _is_ a familiar hum in the background, confirming that yes, he is indeed on a TARDIS. The hum is sad, like the ship herself feels guilty for what’s being done to him, but of course she can do nothing about it. Jack lets it comfort him anyway, until the door opens, and the Master rushes inside. Well, in theory.

Something’s different. His shoulders are a bit hunched and his eyes are terrified - properly terrified - as he rushes to Jack’s side. He doesn’t say a word as he hurries to hide the crisps and take away the water, but he does pause for a moment and just touch Jack’s cheek.  
Just lightly.  
And then he’s pulling out a syringe and injecting him carefully, tying that free arm back up. Like nothing ever happened.  
Jack opens his mouth to say something, only to find that he has no idea what to say.

The Master fills the silence instead. “I’m sorry, I’ll be back,” he whispers harshly, and then he’s back out of the room, door closed.

To say Jack's confused would be an understatement. Is this some kind of mind game? Is the Master playing good cop bad cop with himself in either role?  
Either way, Jack's grateful for the sips of water and the reprieve from the rope around his wrist, however temporary. Being paralyzed again does _not_ help his ever lurking claustrophobia, especially not when he's alone with his thoughts, but the bed is soft enough and he got to heal and every minute without pain is a mercy. _Count your blessings_. 

"My name's Jack.", he murmurs to the humming ceiling, slurring while his throat stops working. "I used to be a time agent..." _I know a different Timelord. The best one. He had a ship just like you ..._ , he switches to talking in his head.  
_You are not alone._ The ship responds with a sense of urgency - can TARDIS’ feel urgency? - and a slightly louder hum that vibrates the walls. _You are not alone. You are not alone._ It’s like she’s trying to say something more, but she _can’t_. Is it a comfort? A warning? Unfortunately, nothing is clear about it, not in the slightest. And it’s only a moment or so later that the Master’s footsteps can be heard dancing down the hall.

It only adds to Jack's confusion, but it's also good to know that the ship's on his side. Even if she's more of a .. sentient coral. Jack doesn't discriminate. _I'm scared._ , he admits, but the TARDIS seems to have run out of words. Jack's thoughts hang heavy in the silence.

There’s a soothing wash from the ship to Jack in this little link they’ve forged, but then the Master kicks the door open with a loud crash, saunters on over to the bed with that shark-like smile. He raises his hands. On them are heavy looking brass knuckles, fitted with thick points at the peak of each one. His voice is quiet and conversational. “Beg for mercy.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Jack glances at the glinting metal and exhales slowly. So this is happening next, then. _I'm a lot more fun to beat up when I can actually move_., he wants to say. Instead, he makes an effort to smirk. Laughing in the face of fear until his dying days. Which is, forever.  
The Master returns it with a smile of his own, eyebrows raised as he strolls on over. Adjusting the knuckles on one hand, he presses it down on Jack’s torso. An almost gentle but steady pressure, those spikes biting into his flesh as the Master keeps his eyes on Jack’s face. “If you close your eyes,” he murmurs , “Maybe you can pretend this is a massage! Someone you love, just...setting you _right_. Might help,” he adds with a little half shrug. He presses down just a bit harder - unrelenting and slow as the spikes force their way into his flesh.

Jack makes a noise of discomfort— closing his eyes sounds like a good idea, but he won't take the bait. He _can_ pretend it's a lover, however. A crazed lover with sharp teeth, a taste for blood and a thing for sadism. He's had plenty of those over the years. Keeping his gaze steady on the Master even while the lines on his face harden with pain, a little _too_ uncomfortable to tap into whatever pain kink he may have, Jack's smirk never fades.

“You’re doing so well,” the Master coos softly, twisting his wrist just so as the spikes dig deeper into his flesh. His other hand drops the knuckles on the bed for a moment so he can reach up and gently stroke the side of Jack’s face, trace over his lips. “Look at you, the brave Jack Harkness. Smirking in the face of agony. No wonder you’ve had your own team, hmm?”

Jack's lips, damn him, part ever so slightly, his body always responding to that kind of touch. He gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes in response, muscles twitching, spasming until it's too much and a low pained moan is torn from his chest. Pain's harder to control now that his attention slipped, he feels those spikes acutely, and his breaths grow shallow as perspiration collects on his chest and forehead. No, no, he can do better. He'll prove it to him if that's what he wants. Fucking bastard.

“Don’t lose yourself, Jack,” the Master warns softly, pulling the spikes from Jack’s body only to press them into a new spot, slightly overlapping the previous. He combs through Jack’s hair, strokes his scalp. “You want to be good for me, don’t you? Good and _strong_.”

Jack grunts and tugs on his bonds experimentally, finding that the paralyzing agent is wearing off again. "I've... 'lways seen m'self as m're'f a bad boy.", he slurs, strained and shaky with pain. The softer touches send pleasant shivers down his spine, willing him to relax, but the digging metal counteracts that impulse _very_ efficiently. He cries out subduedly, jerking away from both touches.

The Master laughs when Jack screams and squirms but keeps up the steady pressure, digging those spikes in ever deeper. “A bad boy, hmm? Is that how you want to be seen? Is that how your sweet Ianto Jones used to see you? Your Gwen Cooper?” The Master traces his thumb along the curve of Jack’s bottom lip as he twists down with his other hand. “Open up for me, love.”

The determination in Jack's eyes falters at the mention of his loved ones— before it comes back twice as strong. Ianto-- Ianto is in a place where he no longer needs saving, but Gwen, his good, strong Gwen who was smart enough to walk out, he has to keep her safe. _How_? Defy the Master or play along? Which option _is_ playing along? He throws his head back and _screams_ , in more than pain, in frustration at the new personal hell life has thrown his way.

It seems to have been the right choice. The Master _howls_ with laughter and yanks Jack’s head back by his hair with his free hand. “ _Yes_ , that’s it!” He hisses loudly. “Feel the _hurt_ , Jack. Ooh, doesn’t it burn!”

Jack bares his teeth with a growl, fixating the Master with a glare that has made many an enemy rethink their life choices. "You.", he grits out. "You're-- going t-to burn _with me_."  
The Master scoffs lightly and gives him a look, right back before roughly pulling the spikes from Jack’s skin. He drops the hold on his hair to grab the other brass knuckles, slipping them back on before he climbs to straddle Jack’s waist.  
“Oh, _Captain_ ,” the Master purrs out, his eyes glinting dangerously, “I do so hope that’s a promise.” And then he start beating. Relentless and unpredictable, the Master litters Jack’s bloodied form with punch after punch after _punch_.

Being from the 51st century - not 100% human, and _immortal_ \- has given Jack some advantages; he's a little stronger than your average human, he recovers faster, and his pain threshold is _high_ \- right, the latter one is not an advantage here, not at all. Anyway, point being- he's still just human, mostly human, and he suffers and breaks and hurts like a human. The mattress gives a little but does barely anything to soften the blows; all Jack can do is strain against his bonds, and voice his pain, and take it.

It's a filthy scene. Blood splatters everywhere, dripping hot down the Master’s wrists, staining the sheets and most of Jack himself. Leaning down with his eyes on Jack, the Master licks a slow line up the mess of his torso before trailing his lips to Jack’s ear.  
“I have a treat for you, Jack,” he whispers. “You won’t much like it, but I _do_ hope it’s fun. It’s right under the bed; shall I get it? Hmm~?”

Jack shudders violently under the trailing tongue, all senses clouded with all-consuming pain, he can't breathe properly, cracked ribs shifting into places they shouldn't be, muscles twitching like he's charged with electricity. He doesn't have the presence of mind to come up with a witty reply, not right away. 

Hurts too much.  
The smallest whimper falls from his lips.

The Master seems to count that as a Yes. With a gleeful _squeal_ \-- or is it a squee? a yelp? something unhinged and _high_ \--, the Master rolls gracefully off of him, uncaring of the wounds he presses over, and ducks under the bed. He pops back up with something which Jack, blinking through blood and tears, identifies as a bottle. The Master untwists the cap and grins, while Jack's heightened senses pick up the sour smell of lemon juice. 

“Guess what’s about to happen.”

Jack swallows and winces, his throat raw from shouting, and wearily eyes the bottle. Ragged breathing stings with every expansion of his chest, he feels beyond dizzy, but his mind still supplies. Lemon juice- literal acid. Enough to sting in contact with superficial scratches, burning away a few cells, not strong enough for critical damage-- but _hellfire_ on open nerve ends. A dry tongue unsuccessfully attempts to wet even drier lips. "d-don't ... don't you s-s-see me sh-shiver with antici--" he _coughs_ , and wow _that's_ bad, too.

“Oh, Jack. I can say a lot of things about you being a loveless freak pining after someone who will never love you, _but_!” He grins. “I can’t call you a coward. You might regret that.”  
And ... the Master keeps his grin and eye-contact as he carelessly drizzles that lemon juice over every single wounded and bloodied _inch_ of Jack’s body.

 _I was better off as a coward_ , Jack's own words echo in his head while his synapses burst into fireworks, driving him tantalizingly close to the edge of unconsciousness.  
The words belong to his mortal self. Simpler times. Happier times. 

The sheer _amount_ of pain knocks the remaining air from his already damaged lungs, and since he can't suck in anymore air he doesn't scream-- he makes a noise that doesn't sound human  
any longer. High pain threshold. It keeps him from passing out, but in the limbo between the states, there's memories. 

_I was better off as a coward. -  
You are worth fighting for.-  
See you in hell.-  
See you in hell.  
See you in hell._

This _is_ hell. And the Doctor isn't here. 

_You abandoned me.  
Did I?_

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

And then suddenly, _suddenly_ it stops. More accurately, the Master _flings_ the bottle of lemon juice at the opposite wall where it falls with a muted thud and dribbles out onto the carpet. And the Master just....stares at it. For once, he’s silent.

Jack drifts in and out of consciousness, silently crying. It's too much. He's had worse. He has. That doesn't make this any less excruciating.  
He's-- pretty sure he's soiled his pants. That _really_ wasn't within the range of his dwindling remains of control. 

His eyes remain closed now but he can _feel_ the Master's presence, and as long as he's in the room Jack won't give in to the embrace of the cold and dark that pulls him under.

The moment of silence is gone. Jack may have soiled his pants but the Master is almost _tenting_ his. The room reeks of terror and fear and agony. He takes a moment to tip his head back and _inhale_. It exhales on a laugh. Of course it does. Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before coming to kneel at Jack’s bedside.  
“I think that’s it for today,” he whispers, pressing a mocking kiss to Jack’s shoulder. “Thank me for ending it here?” Softly asked for, the request of a lover.

 _Get a grip_ , a snarling voice in the back of Jack's mind speaks up. _No time to relax._ Think, he needs to think. Plan--,, plan of action. Fuck, it _hurts_.  
He shudders, attempts to speak, but the words won't come. There's a beat of silence, then he ever so slightly nods.

The Master keeps his face close to Jack's, observing him. "We'll have a little talk soon.", he promises. "I have discovered ... a couple of things. About our dear, precious Doctor." 

He smacks a loud, wet kiss on Jack’s cheek, and with no further ceremony aims a fatal punch directly to Jack’s windpipe. He doesn’t even bother to wait before striding out, picking up the fallen bottle on the way, and locking the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens in the first marked paragraph:
> 
> ════ ⋆★⋆ ════  
> The Master burns Jack's thumb off and reveals that he has a taste for human flesh.  
> He then proceeds to gut him with a pair of scissors.  
> ════ ⋆★⋆ ════
> 
> What happens in the second marked paragraph:
> 
> ════ ⋆★⋆ ════  
> The Master beats Jack with brass knuckles and pours lemon juice on the open wounds.  
> ════ ⋆★⋆ ════
> 
> Personally I would rate the second one easier to read than the first one. Maybe I'm overthinking all of this, anyway, especially if Torchwood brought you here, but I just want to make sure you all stay safe. x


	4. Layers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master and Jack have a little chat about their favourite subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Let's see how long I can keep up with daily updates. _Maybe_ I should've spaced them out more,,  
> Anyway, there's a torture scene in this one again, and I placed a skipping mark for the more graphic bits.
> 
> Enjoy (?) x

Jack's body heals _slowly_ , skin reforming from the ground up, stitching itself back together. The mess stays, just like it did on the Valiant, blood and filth collecting until someone had the mercy to clean him up a little. The humiliation is a torture in its own right. Poor Tish Jones. Poor Francine.

There's nothing for him to do except lie in the dark and feel miserable, the smell and taste of blood and grime ever present to his senses. He tries speaking to the ship again, but she isn't very talkative this time. All she does is hum softly, making him yearn for the times when another TARDIS had been his home, a real _home_ after vagabonding across the universe.  
The Doctor and Rose had given that to him. Saved his life in more ways than one. In the dark, Jack recalls their faces, tries to remember the sound of their voices while he slips in and out of fitful sleep.

At some point, though, in the dead of night, the door clicks open. A beam of light filters through, directly onto Jack’s face before the door is quickly adjusted to make that angle a bit more merciful.  
Jack's conscious again, but utterly _exhausted_. He tenses up when someone enters— is it the next day already? Is the Master coming back despite saying he wouldn't, just to toy with him?  
He keeps his eyes shut to stay in his memories of softer times, to recall Rose's laughter a little longer, the way her tongue poked out between her teeth, eyebrows raised, challenging him to prove that his ridiculous stories are real. 

In his current reality his bonds are removed, and someone is pulling off the rest of his clothes before a damp and cool wash cloth dabs over his body.  
Jack flinches at first when he's being touched, shivering, then frowns and settles down a little.  
It's a kind touch. A careful one. Jack barely dares to breathe.

“It’s alright,” someone whispers softly. The Master’s voice, but ... not.  
The washcloth rubs in soothing, gentle strokes across his skin, every once in a while moving away to be squeezed and re-soaked in what sounds like a basin.

Jack doesn't exactly relax, but he also doesn't use his newfound freedom to struggle. What kind of game is this? Why is he _doing_ this? Going for Stockholm syndrome? That didn't work the first time around. Jack blinks, avoids looking at the Timelord, and slowly sits up just so he can roll his shoulders, _move_ a little.  
That was the plan, anyway, but he's dizzy, can't keep himself upright.

The Master(?) pauses his washing to loop an arm around Jack’s back and prop him up against the headboard. His touches are careful, brief.  
“I’m not him,” he whispers, trying to catch Jack's unfocused gaze as he moves the washcloth to tenderly clean off his neck, his face.  
Jack lets him, too out of it to care.

“I can’t - there’s no time, but I’m _not him_ , and I’m...working on it. I’m working on it.” 

Jack's pretty sure he's just dreaming, not that he's complaining. He watches the timelord from under his lashes; any reply is stopped from coming out by the way his parched throat constricts trying to form words. The touch is good. It's nice. He finds himself leaning into it.

The not-Master takes a deep breath and turns his attention back to cleaning Jack off.  
“The Master’s ego lets him overlook a lot,” he murmurs, “so he might not notice or care that you’re suddenly clean, but I’ve got to leave you on the sheets, I’m afraid. Will make him less suspicious.” 

Once Jack’s clean - as clean as possible – the timelord plops the washcloth back into the basin by the bed.  
Next to it is a water bottle he uncaps and gently brings to Jack’s mouth, supporting the back of his head with his other hand. 

“Sip _slowly_ , Jack. Your body can only recover so much; it can’t rehydrate itself like that.”

Jack forces himself not to drain the bottle too quickly, absently rubbing his wrists to get some circulation going. The soft voice isn't different from the mocking tone from earlier, he doesn't trust it one bit. Maybe he could overpower the timelord. _Right now_. Maybe this is a chance he shouldn't let pass him by. But where would he go? Would he find his way out of the TARDIS? And then where to? He'd have to _kill_ him. 

"I should kill you.", he murmurs, once the bottle is removed.

“You should,” the other agrees easily to Jack’s surprise, not looking the _least_ bit disturbed by this as he takes away the empty bottle.  
“But not yet. If you try, you’ll wake _him_ up and then we’ll be right back where we started.”

"What ..?", Jack mumbles, frowning in confusion. "Wake who?" His brain's not catching up whatsoever.  
All he knows is he's tired, so _tired_.

“Hush now, no time. Just - _listen_ to the ship. She’s here for you. I’ll be back when I can.”  
The not-Master hesitates, wringing his empty hands. Jack absently recognizes the nervous behaviour which ‘O’ displayed at the restaurant.

“...I’ll have to re-dress you and tie you back up. This is going to be quite unpleasant. Would you like to be unconscious for it? Just like going to sleep.”

Sleep … sleep sounds amazing right now. Jack gives a little shrug, then nods. He'll need his strength. And he won't question the kindness or the motive behind it, he can't afford to. So many questions to ask, but the will to has left him for the time being.

With a little twitch of a smile, the not-Master leans forward and presses a gentle finger to his temple and closes his eyes. Jack follows, opens his mind to the gentle intrusion, sinking back onto the mattress and welcoming the feelings the other is passing over, calm, safety, _exhaustion_.  
He's out within seconds.

***

Three hours later, the Master loudly kicks open the door so hard it slams against the wall as it swings.  
“Goooood morning, Vietnam!”

 _Oh hell_.  
Jack flinches awake from what was actual, honest-to-god _sleep_ , disoriented for just a moment, for just a second in the world between asleep and awake where everything is possible and nothing hurts. 

Then the dread settles back in.

The Master is already cackling at the sight. He strides purposefully into the room with a butterfly knife in hand, twirling absently as he comes to Jack’s bedside and sits at the edge.

“We’re going to play a game today, Jack. Do you like games? I like games. I really, _really_ like games.”  
That much hasn’t changed since he wore the Harold Saxon face, then. There’s that signature smile, too - slow-spreading and manically evil to the core. A lion baring his teeth.  
“Pick a number one through seven.”

"How about you cut me loose and I show you how much I like to play?", Jack quips, keeping ambiguous whether it's a threat or an innuendo. The Master chooses to take it as the latter, or perhaps it makes no difference to him.

“Oh, _Captain_. I do so love it when you talk dirty to me,” the Master purrs, letting his gaze _blatantly_ linger on Jack’s mouth before licking his own lips. The knife clinks against itself as the Master fiddles with it. 

One through seven? If One's bad and Jack chooses seven, the Master will simply flip the scale and vice versa. "—Three and a half."

“Three and a half, hmm? Might be a bit tricky to remove _half_ a layer of skin, but we can certainly give it a go. Sounds fun to me, actually! Does it sound fun to you?”

... Shit, it's too early for this.  
Or maybe not.  
What time is it?  
Does it matter? 

"Not exactly my idea of fun.", he rasps. "Mine involves skin as well, but it's more about _contact_."

The Master chuckles. “Is that what you wish I’d come for, hmm? ? _You_?” His free hand slowly strokes up and down Jack’s bare chest.

Jack shudders under the touch and chides himself for not flinching away more. It shouldn't feel _nice_. 51st century. Anything _can_ feel nice.  
"You know me. I wouldn't complain.", he murmurs, seeking the Master’s gaze.

 _Come on. I’ve got all these pheromones. I’ve got the vortex running through my veins. Some of that’s has got to be attractive to a timelord, right?_ Or maybe not. The Doctor has reacted rather badly to what Jack is now, after all. Something wrong, something hard to look at.

The Master grins again. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? You’d let me crawl right up here and have my wicked way with you,” he purrs, letting his nails catch and drag little red lines down Jack’s torso.  
“...But no. That’s not what I’m here for, pet.” He brings the edge of the knife to the skin just under Jack’s pec and tilts it _just_ so, letting the blade bite in a little. “Three and a half, yes?”  
Like he forgot.

Jack swallows hard. "C-Can I reconsider?" He's aiming for a dry remark, but the tiny stutter gives him away. "Could always change your mind." He doesn't care if he sounds just a little desperate. He _is_.

The Master pauses and even draws back a little like he’s really considering it, eyebrows raised and a thoughtful frown.  
And then he grins, says, “Nope!” and cuts _in_.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Oh, it's bad. It's really bad. It's worse than last— Yesterday— When? How long has it b— he _screams_.

The American lilt to his voice seems to fade away whenever he does, leaving his voice sounding brighter, younger, and so less sure of himself. He wants to bite down on something but fears he might bite off his tongue if he gives in to that reflex. The knowledge that it's only going to get _worse_ from here is enough to drive any mortal man to insanity.

The Master tuts. “Careful not to squirm, dear, or I might _slip_.”

He's had worse, Jack reminds himself _again_ as blood bubbles to the surface, covering raw flesh in an attempt to soothe the burning sensation of contact with the air.  
He makes himself look away because no matter what he's been through, you never get used to seeing your own body be mutilated.  
He's had worse. He remembers vividly how _much_ worse. Once no skin, no skin at all, because it hadn't grown back yet, but a functioning brain and a pair of lungs to _scream_ with. Ever since he turned immortal, his life has somehow been a log of one horrific experience after another.

“Do you want me to stop?” The Master hums softly as he painstakingly cuts down the “second” layer, making a few accidents along the way. Nicking a bit deeper, always unpredictable.

"Please.", Jack manages, in between harsh pants. Maybe this time. 

“Pretty thing, all red for me,” the Master coos, ending that second layer with a flick of his wrist that makes Jack whimper. The peels are casually brushed onto the sheets.  
“I’ll stop, love, on one condition. Think you could handle that?” The Master’s already poised for the third layer.

Jack feels the blade rest against his exposed nerves and suddenly feels like he's chained up in a tiny concrete cell again, _no skin at all_. His stomach flips and he knows he just _can't take it_. Not again. Hell, please, never again.

"--" his first attempt to speak fails. "what.. wh-what.. con.. dition..?" He's shaking from the pain, beads of sweat collecting on his brow.

The Master keeps the knife poised but doesn’t move to cut. Listening. Actually giving him a _chance_. 

“I want you to tell me ... everything you hate about the Doctor. Nice and loud, if you please, because I might record this for safekeeping.”

A sweaty brow furrows; he’s in _hell_ , searching desperately for a way out, any way at all. Except this one. Jack doesn't want to take this one.  
".. B-but I don't hate him.", Jack starts."I c.. c-could.. never.”

“Oh _no_ , you don’t hate him - but you don’t love him, do you?” the Master muses, cutting just the _edge_ of the blade into Jack’s broken flesh. Not slicing down for layer three, but definitely getting it started. “What’s stopping you, hmm? What’s _wrong_ with him?”

Jack whimpers and squirms, forcing stillness onto his muscles when that makes the blade nick in deeper.  
"Nothing!”, he manages, gasping for air. "I-I'm the ---wrong one. He told me so himself."

“Keep going, love. C’mon, be good to me so I can stop hurting you~. You want me to stop hurting you, right?” The Master makes his voice go all soft and gentle, his free hand gently stroking the outside of Jack’s thigh.

Jack focuses on the soothing tone, on the soft touch, not to fall for it but to distract, to calm himself down. Keep talking. Alright.  
"H-he's smart and good and _beautiful_ and th-that makes everything so much harder.", he mumbles. "And s-stubborn and _infuriating_ ..."

It’s been so long. He’s had his heart broken so _thoroughly_ , yet he doesn’t hate the Doctor, he never could. "A-and he ... he abandoned my like the rest of them ..."  
Jack's eyes close, burning with sweat and tears of pain. "Because he was afraid of what I’d become."  
It's not the Doctor’s fault. _Oh bloody hell, it hurts_. Talking only aggravates his churning stomach.

“Hmmm. So beautiful and good and you _still_ couldn’t trust him not to betray you. Such a shame, isn’t it? Trust is so important in a relationship, wouldn’t you say?” Gently, as gentle as torture can be, the Master idly saws the knife back and forth. No slicing, just...cutting.

"Wasn't his fault.", Jack bites out, flinching away from the knife. "People do-- ngh. People do stupid things when they're afraid-."

“Would _you_ have betrayed _him_?”, the Master almost snarls the words. “After he _abandoned_ you, did you stop caring about your precious Doctor?”

“Never.”, Jack snaps back without even thinking. But his face must show what he really feels, old wounds reopening, the Doctor running from him because that’s how much he didn’t want to see him, and never apologising. 

The Master pauses his sawing to softly trail the flat of the knife across unblemished skin. Not cutting or hurting this time. A mockery of soothing, of sensuality.  
“The Doctor’s a woman now, by the way. But how would you know, she hasn’t spoken to you in all of three regenerations, has she.”

Pardon?  
The confusion almost distracts Jack from the wandering blade.

The pain is bearable for now. Still present, constantly burning, but like all such things Jack grows accustomed to it. 

The Master laughs. “Oh, the look on your face! I’m being honest, she’s been out there for centuries, never sparing a thought for you. How’s that make you feel? Hmm?” He pouts in fake sympathy.

".. I’m fine on my own. He's-- _She’s_ … busy saving the universe.”, Jack states quietly. “Th-that’s her job.”

“Hmmm, _no_.” And suddenly that knife digs in, cutting a new layer in a new place. “That’s not what I asked, bad boy. I didn’t ask you to _defend_ her, did I? _Did I_?” He emphasizes his words with a twist of his wrist, like he’s _drawing_.

Jack cries out and _panics_ , the unbearable thought of being here all day and who knows how long until he gets some more reprieve weighing down on him. He hasn’t forgotten the Valiant, where every wrong word could result in the death of an innocent or a punishment for Jack and Martha’s friends and family.

He can and will strip Jack bare of his very last shred of sanity. Jack _has_ to appease him, protect whoever that may be protecting, be it Gwen, the Doctor or any innocent human the Master might grab off the street. As long as he suffers at the Master’s hands, no one else does.  
That's his mission, that's the only purpose he can find in this _hell_. And damn him for that.

"No!", he yelps, struggling to focus. "No, you didn't- No. Please."

The Master quirks a brow at him, openly licking his lips at the of Jack’s panic, drinking in the quiet resignation in his eyes.  
The _submission_.  
He pauses the knife. 

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“Say you’re sorry, and try again. Don’t _disappoint me_.”

"Please.", Jack pleads, lowering his voice. If this is what the madman has a taste for, then he has no qualms going down that road to save his own skin. " _Master_. I'm sorry." He's panicking alright, but his voice is a little raspy, _sultry_ , even.

He can see it _working_. The Master’s eyes close in something like bliss as he inhales deeply, shakily from those words. When he opens them again they are _dark_. The hand on Jack’s thigh rubs little circles.

“So answer my question then,” he orders lowly. “What do you _hate_ about the Doctor? Or, let me make it easier. What did you hate about him, back when he was part of your life? Oh! Do you dream about him like you used to on the Valiant? What do you dream about, Captain~?”

"I dream about him sometimes.", Jack murmurs, encouraged by the _hungry_ expression. "I hate it when he makes me laugh. Even worse when he makes me cry." He blinks tears from his eyes and leans ever so slightly into the circling hand.

The Master leans in a bit closer, eyes fixed on his face. _Enraptured_.  
“Good. _Good_. More. Tell me more, Jack. _Look at you_.”

"I-I hate when he's not around, because— because who knows what he might be getting up to, right? —Especially when he doesn't.. even call.." It's a tiny, hidden rebellion. Pathetic. But enough to keep Jack sane. He takes several big breaths before he dares to go on.

"But mostly I hate the way I _don't_ hate him." Big blue eyes stare back at the Master. Tear-filled. "Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at _all_."  
There's a sob along those last words somewhere. 

Yes he's quoting 10 Things I Hate About You.

Heh. He’s going to pay for this.

Jack _had_ him, he could see it. He had the Master hanging on every word, those hungry eyes unmoving from Jack’s face.  
Triumph is brief, Jack’s steely blue gaze taunting him before the inevitable retaliation. 

When he realizes what Jack’s done the Master’s face twitches into something _ugly_ , filled with dangerous _rage_ , his whole form seeming to briefly tremble from it as he bares his teeth.

" _Wrong answer_ ," he growls out in a deadly quiet tone.  
In a quick movement, he's jamming the blade of the knife right into Jack's throat, into his _vocal cords_ , but he doesn't yank it out. No, he keeps it _in there_ , making the process so, _so_ much slower. 

His hand stands on the grip of the knife as he leans in so close their lips could brush.  
"One day, Jack Harkness, you're going to be _so_ good for me."

Jack makes a horrible gargling noise in lieu of a scream, feeling the blade lodged in his throat as he chokes on his own blood. It isn't pretty.

Dying never is, and it rarely happens with dignity. He thrashes, face and chest flushing from pain and panic, throat _pinned_ in place.  
But he _got_ him.  
It's the price he pays, has paid a thousand times over on the Valiant. The Master really should know him better.

They’re past the taunting sensuality now, the faux-gentleness of his touches. The Master is _angry_ at the _disrespect_ , the worst sin of all. If there’s one thing he truly hates, so Jack has learned, it’s being embarrassed.  
He twists the knife in Jack's throat, furious eyes locked on Jack's so he can watch the life drain from him.

Jack coughs or tries to; With the air having nowhere to go the coughs sort of stay inside and violently lift his body off the blood-soaked mattress. The image of the Master's fury stays with him even as he ever so slowly slips into darkness.

For some reason, as he does, something briefly switches in the Master's face.  
His eyes widen and for a moment he's almost mirroring Jack's expression, and in the next moment the knife is yanked _out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens in the marked paragraph:
> 
> ════ ⋆★⋆ ════  
> You've probably guessed this.  
> The Master really gets under Jack's skin.  
> With a knife.  
> ════ ⋆★⋆ ════
> 
> The next chapter will be lighter, promise!


	5. Koschei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything seems so dark, but Jack isn't fighting alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> No skipping marks in this one.  
> We're finally starting to get into the plot!  
> There's a little reference to the Torchwood Novel _In The Shadows_ in this one (I think it's on audible, read by Eve Myles, for all your angsty Janto needs) so if something feels out of place, that's probably it.
> 
> Enjoy! x

The only good news about all this is that the bed was now so soiled the Master _wanted_ it cleaned up. Someone undoes all of Jack's bonds and carefully maneuvers him to the floor, puts a clean pillow under his head. 

Jack comes back to life with a quieter gasp this time, like his throat isn't sure it's good for use again just yet. His skin tingles where it grew back, on his torso as well as his wrists— his _free_ wrists. He notices movement out of the corner of his eye and flinches, sitting up straight.  
Bad idea. The world instantly spins and turns around him.

The other guy’s head snaps up at the sound of movement, bloodied sheets bundled in his arms. For a moment, he just _stares_ at Jack until he finds his voice.  
"Easy, easy," he murmurs softly, turning slow and steady to put the sheets on the floor. "Take your time."

Jack's gaze doesn't leave him while he gingerly touches his ribcage to assure himself he's whole again. The absence of pain feels wrong, like it's trying to lure him into a false sense of safety.  
"What the fuck is your game?", he growls.  
Anger is good. Anger helps.

Exhaling slowly, the other straightens up but keeps exactly where he is. Trying to look nonthreatening, Jack supposes. 

"I'm not him," the timelord says softly. "I'm not the Master. It's - he's asleep, and he could hear me, so I can't say much, but I'm not _him_."

Jack's worn-out mind works overtime trying to comprehend that. Can it be? Does the Master have a twin? some kind of alter ego? Or is this a timelord thing he can't possibly know about?  
He didn't see anything like that on the Valiant.  
" _Asleep_?", he scoffs. "How long was I out for?"  
The Master was _very_ much awake mere minutes ago.

"Not long. It's - we sleep differently, since we can take turns driving. He assumed I'd obediently walk us to bed," the other scoffs. "I'm just cleaning, yeah? Making sure you're okay. Working on getting you _out_." 

"I could walk out _now_.", Jack murmurs. He pulls his knees up and shivers. Give him a minute. Just.. give him a minute.  
He takes deep breaths and tries to ignore how sticky with dried blood he is.

“I’m afraid we’re not exactly parked anymore. He has us held in stasis in the vortex itself - so yes, you could walk out, I won’t stop you, but it would only anger him.” The not-Master watches him carefully for a moment before taking a hesitant step closer.

“...I’m here to help you get clean too. Even have some clean trousers I found. Shouldn’t be too different from what you were wearing or he’ll start looking too closely ... else I’d bring you sweats.”  
Jack tracks his every movement, ready to lash out the second it seems like he's going to do anything other than he says.

"Great. Splendid." He's sounding clipped. 

_If you're so eager to help_ , he thinks, _If you want to put a stop to this, why don't you kill yourself? I know I would._

He doesn't say it out loud, he's not in enough pain to excuse voicing something that cruel, but he thinks it without remorse. 

_I'd take any chance of taking myself out rather than continue to allow this._

The Tardis chimes like she's upset.  
Great, he upset the ship. Fantastic.

The other crouches down in front of Jack and holds out a hand. “Since you’re awake, I can temporarily block the perception filter over the bathroom door here. No bath, but at least we’ll have running water, yeah?” His hand is shaking, just a bit. Huh.  
Jack flinches away.

"Don't touch me." Ugh, he sounds like a sulking child. He glances away and shakes his head. "What use is there in cleaning me up, anyway? Bit of a vain effort, isn't it?" He still hasn't decided whether this is a game or not.  
The other pulls his hand back and leans back so he can sit on the floor.

“...Figured it’d make you more comfortable, is all. As comfortable as you can be through all this horror.”

Jack notes the other seems less erratic, less ... twitchy. Sounds a little different, too. Is that an indicator that he _is_ someone else, or just of the Master's genius? Is this the part of him the Doctor thinks about when they reminisce about their childhood friend?

"... I guess it can't hurt." There. An attempt at dark humor.  
That makes the other man chuckle a little, quick and quiet, before he gets serious again.  
“Can you stand? I won’t touch you, I swear.”

Jack nods lightly and struggles to his feet. Would be nice to get clean, even if it's just for a bit. God, he's hungry. It's the least of his worries, and yet.  
The timelord stands with him and keeps quiet as he walks over to a hidden door, swinging it open to null the filter.  
“I’m afraid I can’t leave you alone, but I can wait outside the door until you’re done, yeah? I’ve some snacks with me, too.”

Jack nods again, watching the perception filter evaporate. Always fascinating. It gives Jack a bit of a headache, but he’s had a constant headache ever since coming here.  
"Aight." _Please don't turn back into psychotic knife guy while I'm in there._

The timelord awkwardly perches on the edge of the bed and gives him a little wave. Again, very much like O.  
When Jack walks into the little bathroom, the not-Master sets about redressing the bed with fresh, clean sheets - dark red ones. To make the bloodstains less visible? Perhaps.

Jack fights to keep his thoughts aloof, never drifting too far one way or another while he gets rid of his trousers and starts the task of getting himself clean.  
Done this countless times, washing more of his blood off himself than he even has flowing through his veins-- Still gross.  
_Right. You're okay. Pull yourself together._  
He is the very opposite of okay, but he's trained on how to function regardless. 

So much pink stained water down the drain. 

_Don't think_.

Jack's eyes are shut tightly, hands clutching the ceramic edge of the sink, reminding himself to breathe. He's shaking ever so slightly. Not like he can retain nerve damage, but it doesn't seem to stop.  
There’s a hesitant knock on the door. Even that makes him flinch.

“Jack?” the other’s voice calls softly. “I’m - I’m sorry, but it’s been a bit. Was just checking to see how you’re getting on. The Master should only be asleep for another thirty minutes - I need to be in bed by then so he’s not suspicious. Do you need help? _Can_ I help?”

 _Thirty minutes_.  
Will he come back then? Was this the full extent of the little break he gets? And he hasn’t used it to find out anything useful. 

Jack shudders and runs a hand down his face. "Yeah. Can't chain myself back up.", he states, just a tad bitter. Let him pat himself dry and put on those other trousers. Alright.  
When he emerges from the little bathroom, the other is standing in the middle of the room, holding a granola bar and crisps along with a bottle of water.  
He does look a little awkward standing there, all cute. Like the Master when he lured Jack back here. _Nope_ , not falling for it, genuine or not. But hell, he's hungry. 

"... Nice sheets."

The timelord grimaces at said sheets for a moment.  
“...I thought they might. Help.”

They do rather give the bed a certain ... implication, though. Jack assumes they’re both thinking the same thing, making for another awkward pause until the timelord rushes forward to hand out the food. “Don’t eat too fast; he’d _love_ to make you sick.”

Jack takes the bag and the granola bars and sits down on the bed with a little sigh, looking up at the Timelord while he opens on of them.  
"... You really _are_ trying to help, huh?"

“...Yes, Jack. I really, really am.” he keeps his eyes on Jack’s while he speaks, looking sincere enough. “I will get you out. I swear to it. I’m just not _strong enough_ yet.”

Jack doesn't let himself believe it because hope is a cruel lover; But he accepts the intention as true for now. He munches the granola bar and opens the bag of crisps next.  
"Well, this _is_ some of the best prison food I've had so far."

Another deep breath. "So what is this? You share a body? You manage to come out when he's exhausted, yes?"

The other stays where he is, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. If they _are_ two people in one body, the Master seems to have all the style and decorum they’re capable of.

“Yes, exactly. Whenever he sleeps, the body is mine. Sometimes I can break through otherwise, stall him a bit, but he’s _strong_.”

".. I see." Jack frowns, trying to process that. "And your plan to overpower him is ... ?"  
Feels weird to eat crisps. They belong in cozy places. Movie nights. That sort of thing.

“He’s been letting his guard down around me more and more. Thinks I’ve gone all complacent. I’m letting that happen, because the more I’m out the stronger I become. I’m _supposed_ to be the stronger one.” He offers Jack a smile, like this isn’t one of the strangest things anyone has ever said to him. 

Despite that, Jack finds himself starting to believe him.

"Mh." he purses his lips in thought. "So if I continue to exhaust him, you can come out more?" Making him _very angry_ seems to get the job done.

“It certainly seems to be helping, yes. But be _careful_ \- the last thing I want is for you to be subjected to _more_ torture.” The smile falls. “Not much time left, now.”

"It's easier with a plan.", Jack murmurs, crumpling up the bag and wiping his hands on the side of the sheet. He feels almost normal now, but he knows it won't last. "---tie me back up, then." So many things he should ask. Like where the Doctor is, if they know. What the Master is planning.

 _Next time_ , Jack vows to himself. _I won’t waste so much of it the next time._

The next time is on the other side of whatever game the Master comes up with next.

The other guy hesitates for only a moment before walking closer and taking the garbage from Jack, shoving it in his pockets.  
Guiding him onto his back, he sets about retying all the restraints. He even puts two fingers between the rope and Jack’s skin on each one to make sure they’re not too tight. How sweet.  
Jack feels like he's kneeling down in front of a guillotine and putting his head on the block voluntarily. He tries to fight the familiar dread that settles back in, which doesn't really work.

"..... by the way. What's your name?"

The other freezes for a moment; like he hadn’t been expecting that. The smile he gives Jack is almost shy as he finishes up the last knot. 

“Koschei. My name is Koschei. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Jack.”

Jack's eyes light up with some vague recognition. _Oh_. This really is the bloke the Doctor misses when he talks about the Master, huh? _She_. Still hasn’t wrapped his head around that.

"I'm sure.", he murmurs, attempting to smile. Can't exactly say the same about him.

Koschei looks like he’s about to say something else, but he pauses and his eyes get this faraway look in them. When it passes, he’s a lot more somber as he hurries around to make sure everything’s back to normal. Perception filter on, filthy sheets in his arms.

“I have to go. I’m _sorry_.” He doesn’t even give Jack a moment to respond before he practically runs out.

That's it for his little break, then, Jack assumes.

 _Fuck_. He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths.

"... Hey, you. Are you there? I gotta give you a name.", he murmurs to the ship. "The Doctor calls his TARDIS _Sexy_ , but I don't know if we've reached that point." He chuckles, but it dies down quickly.

It's strange, talking to a TARDIS. It doesn't have a _voice_ as such, but with some telepathic training, the information it shares can be roughly translated into words. Jack has, of course, had extensive training at the Time Agency, but the real practice he got traveling with the Doctor. The Agency was all about _shielding_ your mind, not opening it up.

 _I am here, Jack. We are here for you. You may call me ... Aurelia._ The ship’s lights briefly turn to a soothing blue, accompanying the gentle hum that vibrates through the bed. Another thought slips out, not properly communicated, just some ... background info that enters Jack's mind, since its open to the link.  
_It's the name of his daughter._

 _... Nice to meet you, Aurelia._ , Jack murmurs, suddenly emotional. Koschei's daughter? Or the Master's? _Theirs_? More questions all the time.  
_Can ... can you stay ...?_

 _Oh, Jack. I am always here._

Before she can say anything else to him, the lights are suddenly back to normal and then the Master is _slamming_ open the door and wasting no time stalking up to the bed.

“Good morning, _pet_. We’re going to have such fun today.”

And then he’s snapping Jack’s neck like a twig, no fanfare about it. 

***

Jack opens his eyes to the dark, momentarily wondering if he's been blinded. 

The next thing he notices is that he isn't tied up but that his arms are by his sides, pressing against something solid ... he tries to wiggle.  
It's a narrow space.

"What the hell.. —?" His voice doesn't travel far. Reaching up, Jack finds barely two inches of air above his nose until he touches something solid. 

_Like the lid of a coffin._

"Oh, very funny...", he breathes. He feels very warm. And like there isn't enough air around him. And like the world is weighing down on him, And closing in, And, and, and..  
"Very fucking funny!" Yelling. Yelling helps.

Not getting an answer doesn't. 

Does he smell soil? No— no, don't go crazy. Stupid. You're not buried, it would be colder. _Would it_? 

Memories flood the space around him like water, unbidden and merciless.

_More than six feet of dirt, weighing down on him, crushing him, his mouth filled with dirt. He's inhaling it, it's in his lungs, it's everywhere—_

Jack pounds the lid. "This is gonna get kinda boring, don't you think?", he shouts. The slight pain in his hand helps to ground him. Is the air getting thinner? Oh, god.

_Gray has put him here to make him suffer, to make him pay, and he forced John to do his bidding, John, a man Jack has never admitted to loving until it was too late, until all he was was a painful reminder of his past, but he’s back, and he’s holding a shovel, so _sad_ , asking for permission, and Jack allows it.  
Dirt landing on his face. Keeping his composure at least until he’s fully covered._

Fine, fine, maybe he's shouting at thin air. Perhaps the Master isn't even there. Okay. What is he supposed to do then? Wait it out? How long is the Master going to make him wait for?

 _This lasted 1.874 years the last time. 1.874. Y e a r s_. 

Jack closes his eyes because keeping them open is useless. Is he suffocating? He feels like he's suffocating. The walls of his confinement seem to close in on him, he can _feel_ the weight on his chest, he thrashes in a desperate attempt to get free-- _Stop it, he's just playing games with you._

But the air _is_ growing thin, and he's starting to feel very tired.

He stops shouting.  
He stops thrashing.  
He stops breathing.

***

Jack gasps back to life, the only indicator that he's even been dead— he can't remember dying. 

Suffocating slowly is a nice death, actually. Just like falling asleep.

Now the air is used up to begin with, though, and he already struggles to breathe. How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? _Days_? 

He lost all sense of time in the grave Gray dug for him. A year of dying is _insanely_ long. A _month_ would've been enough to drive him crazy. Try the better part of 19 centuries.  
He _had_ gone insane in that tomb, but pushed it far, far back to the corners of his mind, there had been more important things at hand when he came back. 

It's all coming back now. He can't do this again; He can't even do a _fraction_ of this again. Tears collect in his eyes, sliding out from behind closed eyelids.  
A thin layer of sweat clings to his skin, everything's too warm, too tight. His mind flips from quiet resignation to terror again.

He _yells_ , claws at the walls of the coffin, breaks his nails on the wood, panting hard in a vain attempt to fill his lungs with air.  
Not hyperventilating since there's not enough oxygen left for him to get lightheaded. He chokes on a sob, _or is it a mouthful of dirt?_

He whispers a plea, incoherent, unheard. " _...Gray?_ "  
He's so sorry. For being the _worst_ brother-- Even after all these years he's still so, so _sorry_. And still unforgiven.  
Jack's entire body shakes, raging, as always, against the dying of the light.  
He deserves this, he knows he does.  
But he _can't do it._

Then suddenly, it’s over.  
He hears steps, latches being opened slowly, one by one, until finally the lid is flipped open.

“Oh, Jack, _darling_ , I’m ever-so-sorry, are you alright?” the Master murmurs gently as he finally flips the lid open.

Jack is so _far_ from alright, red-faced and teary and terrified. His vision is grayish-white at the edges, kinda static, the oxygen supply to his brain insufficient for a clear picture.  
The tunnel vision makes him zero in on the timelord's face while he gasps for air that is finally, _finally_ accessible to him, and in this very moment it doesn't matter _who_ 's standing over him.

He's grateful for the _mercy_ , so grateful he weeps. Please don't shut the lid again, don't leave, please, please don't leave him alone in the dark again.

The Master’s lower lip juts out in a sad pout and he pulls Jack up into a sitting position, still in the coffin, and he wraps his arms around him.  
“There now, it’s over! It’s all over, and you did _so_ well.”

Jack's beaten down form is still trembling, he shies away from the touch, then leans into it. Breathe. He can breathe. There's light again. No centuries of suffering ahead of him, and nothing else matters.

_Relief is one hell of a drug._

He presses his face into the Master's shirt and sobs.

For a few moments, nothing happens.  
The Master holds Jack close and even rocks him gently, murmuring soothing nonsense as he strokes his hair.  
Then he stop, chuckles, and a syringe is _stabbed_ into the back of Jack’s neck - paralyzing agent back to play.

“There now,” he murmurs, holding Jack close while it kicks in. “So much noise. Hush, now, so I can get some work done.”

Jack gasps and flails, fingers curling into the fabric of the Master's shirt until his grip goes slack, eyes wide, a plea dying on his lips while his heartrate picks up. 

No. _No_. Please, _NO_.

The Master has that fake sympathy on his face again, and like he can read Jack's thoughts he’s just nodding slowly- yes, _yes_ \- as he lowers him back into the coffin.  
And he shuts the lid. But this time, he leaves it unlocked.

Jack cries out— muffled now that his vocal cords won't obey— and tries to move despite _knowing_ it's not going to happen, and it _doesn't_ , just like last time, just like when he was surrounded by nothing but earth--,

 _\--the cold creeping in, his clothes starting to rot, losing all sense of reality, of time, of up and down, of self_. 

His heart is racing so fast it's all but _vibrating_ in his chest, a hummingbird-like creature trapped in his ribcage. It _hurts_. Everything hurts.

Through his panic Jack hears steps, and the sound of a shutting door.  
Now he’s truly alone.

This is hell. He's in hell.  
Memories overlap reality-- he can't move, so he must be trapped underground again-- not a millimeter to go in any direction, _2000 years_ \---

_Gray is out there somewhere, no, he isn't, because he'll never forgive Jack, not even after this, and John has left him too because it's better that way, everyone has left him, no-one will look for him, no-one cares, not even the Doctor. Least of all the Doctor._

_Silence.  
Darkness. Alone in a world of shadows—— _

_…_

_Ring-a-ring-a-roses...  
A pocket full of posies..._

Ianto. Ianto didn't leave. Last time Jack was condemned to hell, Ianto was still out there somewhere and therefore everything was okay. He helped him. Ianto— loved him. He’d found him. He’d rescued Jack from the shadows. 

Ianto, who was so beautiful.  
Ianto, who died because of Jack. No, no, no, no, _no .. I take it all back... but not him !_

Ianto's face fades, the darkness lingers, and Jack's mind keeps jumping from one thought to the next.

_A tissue, a tissue..  
We all  
fall  
down._

A timer buzzes after an eternity or maybe the span of ten minutes, shrill and piercingly loud.  
Next thing he knows the Master opens the lid to the coffin, blow Jack a kiss, and drops it in.

It's weird. It's trippy. The brief reminder over reality rips Jack out of his downward spiral, but then the shrill sound of the alarm pierces his eardrums. It does little to stop his panic.  
Jack closes his eyes as if that would stop the noise. It blocks out each and every thought he might have— can't hear himself _think_ , which is somehow adding to the feeling of being paralyzed. He just wants it to be over. _Needs_ it to be over. _Please._

Twenty minutes on the dot, and the coffin opens again.  
The Master grabs the timer and turns it off before hauling Jack’s limp body out of the coffin and into his lap, hugging him close.

The sudden silence leaves Jack's ears ringing. What is happening, what--,

Tilting Jack’s head to look at him properly, the Master cups his cheek and strokes it _so_ gently as he murmurs, “Tell me you love me.”

His lungs hurt, his chest's on fire, and thinking is infinitely hard.  
All he knows is he can't go back into the darkness, to all the things that wait there. _Can't._

His breath hitches, eyes still leaking tears when he's made to look at the Master. Warm, strong arms are holding him and that hand on his face is so _tender_.  
He wishes it would be someone else, but pushes that thought away.  
Comfort is comfort. 

Love him? Does he? He loves someone else. _Doesn't he?_ It's all so confusing.

But the Master came back to him and he's very kind and Jack _knows_ what he’s doing but he _doesn't want to be left alone again_.  
He presses his lips together to stifle a sob that wants out, leaning into the gentle hand. Can't talk. Can't.

The Master tuts softly at the display and takes it upon himself to press a kiss to Jack’s forehead. Jack doesn’t flinch away—terror makes humans so pliant.

“Now I know you can try a bit harder than that, love,” he says softly, cradling Jack to his chest. “I don’t want to have to put you back inside, hmm? --Oh, hang on.”

He lets go of Jack somewhat, pulls out a smartphone.

“Doctor’s texting. We’re texting, now. She thinks I’m O, of course. Thinks we’re _friends_. Doesn’t know I’m behind all the murders she’s about to investigate, _that_ should be fun. I suppose I’ll have to take care of that in a bit ... but, anyway.” He pockets the phone and grins at Jack. 

“Where were we? Right. Tell me. You love me.”

Jack breathes past the lump in his throat, the iron bands encircling his chest, tries to calm himself down enough to _think_.

Has the Doctor been tricked by 'O' like he has? That’s bad news. Maybe the whole point of Jack’s abduction was to test his fake identity, see if Jack would fall for it, which he did. But who knows, really. _Fuck_ , his brain is useless.

_Tell me you love me.  
But I don't. Can't. Won't._

If he doesn't, the Master will lock him back in there. Who knows for how long? This is a time machine after all.  
His stomach drops at the thought. What if he does, though? The Master loves his games.  
"Y-you'll just.. lock me up..anyway.", he slurs, forcing the words out past lips that won't cooperate. 

The Master stares at him for a moment before letting out a little chuckle. That chuckle turns into a downright _giggle_ , which escalates into a laugh, and soon the Master is clutching Jack’s limp form in his lap, rocking back and forth, and _cackling_ up at the ceiling. 

“Y-you...should s-see your _face_!” He forces out, voice strained with laughter before dissolving back into it. The Master makes a show of Jack’s face, slack and terrified, before going off again at his own joke. There are _tears_.  
And then it all stops. 

No laughter, no mirth, and it’s almost like the tears that had been gathering evaporated. His face becomes a blank slate as he looks down at Jack, still cupping his cheek. Very, very quietly, “Say the words or I’ll put the Doctor in a coffin, too.” 

The humiliation barely touches him, he's too used to it. Jack's died some _nasty_ deaths on the Valiant-- to put it very bluntly, after being mocked for pissing himself shortly before bleeding out in his own vomit, there _really_ isn't much dignity left between him and the Master. At all whatsoever. 

His last words, though, hit Jack like a brass-knuckled punch to the lungs.  
He's bluffing. He's gotta be. Jack's blood runs cold and he stares at the mad timelord, trying to read his face, but it's a blank sheet. What Jack's doing is keep his attention on himself so he won't go out there and hunt her down-- ... can't risk it. But is he even making any difference? Has the Master long since caught her in his trap? 

_Aurelia- does he? Does he have the means to kill the Doctor?_

The ship, for once, says nothing back. But there’s an undercurrent there, something like fear or dread that bleeds in through their link.  
They have landed somewhere, Jack gathers. Earth. 

For his part, the Master just _stares_ at him. Waiting.  
He doesn’t ask again. Jack feels sick. Real proper sick. The granola bar and handful of crisps in his stomach feel very ready to see the light of day again. 

_Focus, idiot_. He forces some air into his lungs. 

" ... I love you." 

“Oh, _good boy_ ,” the Master rushes to praise, a little gleeful giggle bubbling out of him as he crushes Jack’s face to his chest and cuddles him close.  
“See? Wasn’t that so _easy_? Things will be much easier for you if you’re just _good for me_.” He pulls back enough to tip Jack’s chin back up, look at him properly. “You’re going to try to be good for me now, aren’t you? Now that you ... understand the stakes?” 

Ironic how he's held these words in for so, so long ... only to waste them. They will lose their meaning, he will start dreading them for _different_ reasons. 

"Yes.", he manages, miserable. At the end of the day he's at the mercy of the Master's changing temper, but he won't be able to live with himself if he doesn't try _anything_ within his power to keep The Doctor safe regardless. Still no response from the ship.  
They're on Earth, and the Master is hiding in plain sight. _Again._  
Jack's worst nightmare is coming back and this time he's awake for it. 

“Say it again, love? Say you love me again. Just so I know you really ... _really_ mean it.” Leaning down, the Master presses a slow, lingering kiss to Jack’s sweaty forehead.  
Jack closes his eyes, causing tears to drip and roll down his cheeks. The Doctor’s near. Way too close to the Master. How is she? What has he already done to her? Does she know Jack's here? Nonsense, why would she. Why the _fuck_ didn't Koschei tell him that they landed? 

"I love you", he repeats, desperation bleeding into his voice. Maybe if he imagines saying it to someone else. "I love you." It's just words. Sounds. No meaning. 

"Good. Good! See? You're so very _clever_ aren't you?" The Master got what he wanted; he's content.  
Holding Jack's limp form close, he gets to his feet to drag him across the floor and flop him unceremoniously on the bed.  
He seems _happy_. So happy, in fact, that now he's whistling a merry little tune as he gets to work on Jack's restraints, as tightly as he can make them. 

Jack just feels numb. His body's been through a lot; feels like he's been running a marathon. Utterly exhausted, shell-shocked, pathetic in how _useless_ he feels. What use is immortality when he can't use it to save the Doctor? 

"Don't think I'll kill you this time," The Master mentions, like they're discussing the weather. "Your paralysis will wear off soon, but I rather think you need some time alone with your thoughts. Call it a mercy~.” He pauses.  
“By which I mean _say thank you_ , Jack." 

Jack wants to curl up, make himself small, but the ropes don't allow for so much as wiggle room. As much as he hates to admit it, he preferred being held by the Master. A mockery of affection it may be, but it was infinitely better than being locked in the dark. 

He considers saying 'thank you jack', just to be an ass, then thinks of the Doctor somewhere out there, not knowing that she has a target on her back. 

".. thank ... thank you." 

The Master makes a condescending, pleased sound at that and pats Jack on the head, just like a pet dog. He tugs on the restraints once more for good measure and flounces from the room. 

By the door, he turns, hesitates, then his face splits into a grin. “She’s being taken to the MI6 via car. Think I’m gonna hijack it, have some _fun_." 

He claps his hands like a giddy child, slams the door shut, and silence falls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand welcome to Spyfall!
> 
> I'm so excited to finally introduce you to Koschei, who is (small canon bits and pieces excluded) entirely [Winter's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/profile) creation. Let me plug their [RP Account](https://twitter.com/StandsOnHigh) again, where they go into more depth and do a much better job of giving you a feel for the character than I ever could.
> 
> See you next chapter! x


	6. A Moment Of Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes an effort to understand the man he's trapped with.  
> One of them, that is.

He's in a TARDIS, on Earth, and the Doctor is unevitably coming his way.  
It's everything he could wish for, except it's all wrong.

He won't be able to see her, like looking through a one-way-mirror, forced to watch without being seen.  
She won't know he's there, won't know he's terrified for her, for what the Master might do. Won't know what the Master has done to him. Last time, on the Valiant, at least he had known they were sharing the pain. _You selfish prick. Do you think it would make her feel better to see you right now?_

He could walk out of here and be back home. Not that he would go home. He'd find the Doctor, _warn_ her.  
Why hasn't Koschei _let_ him?  
Is she still alive, after the Master's idea of _fun_?

Jack _weeps_.  
There's no-one there to _hear_ it, so he doesn't care about being quiet. He cried a lot on the Valiant. He cries a lot at night when the nightmares come.

Sometimes when he really _felt_ how disappointed his team was over something he did, his composure was _paper-thin_. Sometimes it was anger, sometimes It was a numb, empty feeling, and more often than not it was _tears_. 

Laughter bubbles out from his chest at the dumbest jokes, his rage tends to be an uncontrollable force of nature, not meant for the public to see, and his grief is too large for words. (How he relates to the Doctor.)  
He is only human, forced to live with himself for longer than anyone should be.

It's not fair. None of this is fair, but he’s done enough evil in his younger years to deserve this. Meeting Rose and the Doctor ultimately just made him realize how despicable he was, ignoring his conscience for the better part of his life, a coward, a conman, with little regard for the value of life, including his own. Immortality for the suicidal nihilist. Poetic justice. The knowledge wraps itself around the Captain's throat like an iron hand, squeezing hard.

"I'm sorry.", he tells the empty room tearfully, "I'm sorry", over and over again until the words don't sound like words anymore.

It's an hour or so later when Koschei pushes open the door to Jack's room, his eyes downcast and quiet. He walks slowly to Jack's bedside and sits down on the edge, and doesn’t say a word. Leaving it to Jack to start this time.

Jack has thoroughly exhausted himself, stopped crying not because he calmed down but because there were no tears left to fall. His eyes sting, his throat feels like he swallowed glue, and the fake calm he feels is nothing but the absence of energy. He can't even muster up the will to snap at the sorry excuse for a timelord sitting down by his side.

"You're lucky I'm tied up.", he rasps, no force behind his words. "I could kill you, I really could. Why the _fuck_ \--" he coughs when his throat catches, too dry and swollen to speak, "--didn't you _tell me_?"

Koschei undoes the ropes. He even gently rubs at the raw skin under them. His eyes stay fixed on the sheets, on anywhere that _isn't_ Jack.  
"...I didn't think it would help," he finally murmurs. "In fact, I thought it'd just make it worse."

"How? You could've let me out. You could let me out _now_."

"He'd track you down _so_ fast. Even if you managed to warn her, it wouldn't be worth it, Jack. You wouldn't see light of day ever again."

Jack frowns. "And if I do nothing I will? I thought you were working on getting me out, now you're telling me to forget about it?"

"No! No, I _am_ working on it. I swear to you. I'm finding a way to make sure you'll be safe. _Both_ of you."  
Swallowing thickly, Koschei finally looks Jack in the eye. His own are red and wet, the guilt is _palpable_. "She … she survived the Master’s games. She’s fine for now.”

_That's a relief._

Jack meets Koschei's eyes very briefly before looking away. The Master's gentle streak is making him sick, and Koschei's demeanor only serves as a reminder. Also sitting up wasn't such a bright idea, he's _dizzy_.  
He nods lightly.  
Worrying about the Doctor is an excellent way to distract from his own misery. It’s been so long since he’s seen her-- He doesn’t even know what she _looks_ like, now. Even though the last time he walked away it was voluntarily, not a day goes by that he doesn’t think about going back, changing his mind about the Doctor’s offer to travel together again. 

Does Koschei miss her as much as he does? _Even more_ , he guesses.

"What about you?" The question probably surprises them _both_ ; Jack didn't know he meant to ask it until it already came out of his mouth.

Koschei actually leans back a little when he snaps his head up to look at Jack. His face is the very picture of confusion. "I'm not - … what do you mean?"

"Once he finds out you're getting me out of here— or trying. What's he gonna do to you?" It's easier, he finds, when he doesn't look at him. Koschei _does_ sound a little different from the Master.

"... That doesn't matter, Jack. That's - that's _never_ mattered. Getting you out, and as _far away_ from him as possible - that is the _only_ thing that matters."

So Koschei's plan to get him out _is_ to condemn himself along with the Master. That's ... a little more selfless and heartbreaking than Jack can digest. He doesn't know what to say. So he says nothing … But he reaches out and lets his fingertips linger on Koschei's hand.

Koschei _melts_ into it like that little touch is the closest thing to affection he's gotten in centuries. Maybe it is? Jack's anger evaporates.  
The timelord says nothing either, just stares down at the fingertips on his hand as he swallows hard again.

After a few moments, he clears his throat softly to speak. "I, er, brought. Snacks. If you want them."

Jack doesn't feel like he can stomach anything right now. The violent flashbacks, the forced tenderness, then being told that his Doctor is out there somewhere, _trusting_ the Master— He trembles and shifts his position to hide it, which makes him withdraw his hand.

".. Got any water, too?"

"Yeah," Koschei murmurs, seeming grateful to have something to do as he shifts to pull a water bottle out of his pocket, handing it over to Jack with a small smile. "Not cold, I'm afraid."

"..... The service in this hotel", Jack murmurs, slowly like he's remembering how to joke, "..... terrible. never booking here again." He unscrews the bottle, a task that requires his full attention. "I'll leave a peppery review.."

It takes Koschei a moment to react, but when he does he's tucking his head down with a real chuckle, raspy and quiet though it is.

"But I've only _just_ gotten up to four stars on Yelp!"

"Well, tough." That little chuckle makes him feel some kind of way. Like when he made Owen laugh for the first time after his fiancée died.

He empties half the bottle and takes a deep breath. "--I'll be okay, you know. We should use your time in control to see if we can’t reach out to the Doctor somehow.”

Not that he doesn't appreciate the company, it keeps him _sane_ , but he's restless now.

“We have a bit more this time around. He was … very busy today. Besides, Jack, just because you can't stay dead doesn't make your care less _important_."

That earns him some points in Jack's book, and knowing they still have some time calms some of his worries. A little.

"Good. That's good." He plays with the bottle, crushes it a bit, then takes another sip. They should come up with a plan of action anyway ..  
He glances at the coffin next to the bed.  
Bad idea.  
Huh.  
Suddenly there's no air.

"...Jack? Jack, are you alright?"

Koschei follows his line of sight and – “oh. _Oh_. Shit. I'm - gods, Jack, I'm sorry. I didn't even _think_. Here, I'll just--."

And he's standing with so much haste he nearly falls right over before stumbling to the coffin, dragging it from the room and out into the hall with an effort. He's back at Jack's bedside as quickly as he can but he just sort of _hovers_ there. 

Jack's hand is crushing the bottle enough to make the remaining water spill a little, his body rapidly alternating between hot and cold flashes. He's fighting so hard to stay grounded in the present. 

"I--tell me what to do, Jack. Can you? Can you speak? Can I help?“

The coffin being removed from his line of sight helps somewhat, and he makes himself reach up to place a hand on his chest, touch his lips, just to make sure there's no _dirt_. 

"T-talk to me.", he begs.

Koschei sits down next to him again, arms awkwardly hovering for a moment. They eventually just end up in his own lap as he speaks, calm and soothing. 

"You're not buried, Jack. Look at your wrists, your legs. You're not bound, and this room has a nice, high ceiling, and you're not _alone_. You are not alone." The ship seems to hum in agreement, like she's finally completing a thought from long ago.

"...I'm right here, Jack."

Jack nods ever so slightly, squeezes his eyes shut and exhales audibly. Stupid body. Stupid reactions. Not like Koschei hasn't seen him at his worst, but he still doesn't like being this vulnerable. _What a great help you are for the Doctor._

He blinks, puts down the bottle and lowers his hand, then reaches out for Koschei's arm. He just needs someone. 

_Anyone_.

Koschei lifts his arm towards Jack's hand, offering him whatever he may need with those large brown eyes fixed on him, full of guilt and sympathy.

 _Kindness_.

Jack feels that he's moving in slow motion, turning towards Koschei and leaning into him, drawing him close. Can't really look at him, don't expect that from him, but he needs to feel another body close to his and he'll make do.

Koschei is stiff as a board at first before he slowly leans into the embrace, wraps his arms around Jack properly. Good.

Jack catches his breath against Koschei's shoulder, trying hard to separate his presence from the Master's in his mind. It doesn't work very well-- he's still tense--, but he does calm down.

After a moment, Koschei cautiously rests his cheek on Jack’s head, grounding both of them.

That's better. Good, even.

After a while, Jack reluctantly pulls away. Doesn't feel like apologizing, doesn't feel like saying _thank you_ , but he appreciated that hug a lot.

"--'m alright now, I think.", is what he ends up saying, hand lingering on Koschei's arm. The poor bastard really _is_ trying to help. Jack shouldn't make him regret it.

“Good, good. Very good,” Koschei breathes, nodding as he neatly folds his hands in his lap. _How long has it been since somebody hugged you?_

“.... I’m sorry, Jack. I need you to know that every time he hurts you, I’m fighting against him with _all that I am_. ... Unfortunately that isn’t much right now.”

Jack watches him, frowning a little. “I’m not sure I understand your whole thing just yet.”, he says quietly, still a little out of breath. “Who is the Master? To you? Is this a … split personality type thing?”  
He’s known people with DID. They’re never a cliché split between good and evil, they’re a whole system of individuals in the mind of the same body.

Koschei shakes his head. “Not- not really, no. I have always been me. The Master hasn’t, he’s separate. … He ... he turned up when I was still a child.”

Jack recalls the story the Doctor told him, back when he was a skinny guy in a trenchcoat.

“When you looked into the untempered schism.”, he realizes, keeping his voice down as if the Master might sense they’re talking about him. Maybe he can.  
“The Doctor told me that, the one time he spoke of home. He said- some would get inspired, some would run away, and some … some would go mad.”

Koschei’s lips twitch in a wry smile. “He was .. a coping mechanism. At first. But he grew stronger, he influenced me. And as he grew, I ... became smaller. I stopped being my own person a long, long time ago. And therefore I am not much help. I wish I were, I’m so sorry, Jack.”

All the little twitches and shifts in the Master’s behavior make sense now, the way he’d abruptly turn away for a second before facing Jack again, those little moments when his body didn’t _quite_ follow his instructions.

Has he been in there, on the Valiant? Watching, fighting, but not strong enough for it to show?

"... I don't know if I even _can_ forgive you for things you haven't _done_ , but .. _you're_ not the enemy. I get that now.", Jack says after a little pause, a lot of internal struggle. ".. I believe you."

For a moment, Koschei just _stares_ at him. His other hand covers Jack’s hand on his arm, just lightly touching as he hesitantly makes eye-contact. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” he whispers, sounding more than a bit choked-up.

Jack makes himself meet his eyes and finds to his relief that the man in front of him, right now, looks nothing like the Master. He might be a _very_ skilled actor, but what Jack sees from Koschei is _genuine_. Maybe all this is exactly what he has to do in order for Koschei to become stronger.

"You're alright for a timelord.", he says with a half-smile.

“High praise, considering we were mostly fairly awful,” Koschei murmurs, returning that smile. “...Is there, uh. Anything else I can...do...for you?”

“You said the Master was busy today.” Jack turns a little so he can look at Koschei properly, straightening his posture, reminding both of them of who he is.  
He’s Captain Jack Harkness. He’s Torchwood.  
“If you do have the time, tell me, what is he up to?”

Koschei hesitates, and Jack assumes he’s listening inward, making sure the Master is asleep.  
“We’re not a hotel anymore, right now. The Master has changed the ship into a hut in the Great Victorian Desert.”

Jack frowns. “Australia?”

Koschei nods. “He left the MI6. Manipulated their director, C, into letting him go. He set up a scheme that involved the assassination of secret service agents all around the globe, and he knows that the Doctor will want to work with O once the MI6 asks for her help.”

Jack needs a moment to take it all in. “Why did he have to leave the MI6 for that? Wouldn’t it make more sense to stay?”

“He needs to work independently, so he’s set up shop out here, where he can control everything.”, Koschei explains. “He connected with two Australian agents to keep up the façade, but I assume he’ll get rid of them eventually, like he did with C.” He grimaces. “He assassinated him, right in front of the Doctor’s eyes.” 

_Using Koschei’s hands_ , Jack realises. It seems hard for the other to talk about these things, and now that Jack understands why, he feels bad for bringing it up.

“I assume he’ll tell you about his next steps soon enough. He’s too vain about his cleverness to keep it to himself. Posing as ‘O’ for so long has been challenging for him.” He pauses. “Is ... that enough for now?”

Jack nods, there really isn't anything concrete that can be done. "Just keep me updated, and … don't give up. And … if you _do_ get the chance, if you talk to the Doctor, just tell her … tell her … " He exhales, shakes his head with a mirthless grin. "oh, she knows."

Koschei looks like his hearts are breaking. He nods somberly, slowly getting off the bed to stand by it instead with his hands held in front of him. “You have my word, Jack. As long as I exist, I am fighting for you. For _both_ of you.“

 _Because you love her, too. Perhaps more than I ever could._  
Jack feels guilty for the tiny stab of jealousy he feels.

He can only nod in return. If Koschei has to leave that means the Master will return and that means either Jack's brief respite is over or worse.  
He feels very, very tired. But he's not alone. He needs to hold on to that.

“D’you mind, er—,” Koschei nods awkwardly to the bed, punctuating his words with a choppy gesture at the bedposts.

 _Assume the position so I can tie you up for later torture?_ Jack finishes the sentence in his head.  
"..oh, right." Jack curls his fingers into the sheet ever so briefly, closes his eyes that one heartbeat longer when he blinks. Then he complies.  
It's not Koschei’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” Koschei murmurs again as he bends to grab the ropes. Just like before, he ties the knots more loosely than the Master would.

Jack nods again and lets him do as he must. He'll get out of here some day in the hopefully not-so-distant future ... and never feel safe again, but what else is new.

Koschei lingers for a moment, fidgets with the knots like he’s fussing, trying to stall. Sucks his teeth, rocks on his heel. And then he gently touches Jack’s cheek and nearly runs from the room, but takes care to close the door softly behind.

Jack's left with the silence again, but it's better this time. A little less loud.  
He turns his head to the side in an attempt to get comfortable, still feeling Koschei's touch on his cheek. 

_I see why you're staying with him._ , he tells the ship. Aurelia. Has the Master named her? What does that imply?  
_.. I didn't get it. Why the Doctor was so desperate to save him. I thought he was delusional._

 _Koschei is, to himself, a ghost._ The ship replies. TARDISes sure love to be cryptic. 

She sends waves of calm through their link, though, and there’s an undercurrent of _pride_ there.  
_But he is always trying to live, and that is never for himself. You can trust him. You will._

Jack's silent for a while. Then, _I think I want to save him, too._  
And not just for himself. Though ensuring that Koschei gets stronger _will_ hopefully reduce the threat the Master poses.

It’s almost like the ship is laughing, but like a fond parent would. And doesn’t that just make the name more ironic?  
_You’ll have to convince him he deserves to be saved. Such things don’t occur to him anymore. The Master is...relentless._

 _Well. Saving aliens is part of my job sometimes._ Jack closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of the TARDIS surrounding him. Without the horrors it would be so soothing to be inside one again, even if it isn't the Doctor's.

 _I will help however I can. Koschei is ... updating me._ She’s either unwilling or unable to say anything else. _Rest now, Jack. You will have such fear tomorrow._

 _What.. what does that mean?_ Jack frowns, not liking the sound of this one bit. 

But the ship can't, or won't, say any more. Great. Some preparation would be nice, now he's just twice as anxious.

He doesn't admit it to himself just yet, but he _could've_ pushed harder for Koschei to let him go. Damn the consequences, damn it all to hell.  
The reason he didn't is the ghost of a touch to his cheek, an afterimage behind his eyelids, of someone stranger, sadder and a lot more lonely than even Jack himself.


	7. Audience Of One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Graham arrive at O's homestead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> This is where the events of Spyfall start to happen (Don't worry, it's not just going to be a prose retelling of the episodes!).  
> Any feedback will be much appreciated.
> 
> Enjoy! x

It's a longer gap, this time. This could be a reprieve, or it could be something _much_ worse. But six hours later, the Master is very loudly singing as he comes down the hall towards Jack's room.

The Master in a good mood can either be the better alternative to him seething with rage, or it can be something _horrible_. Jack knows his luck, and he's not exactly _optimistic_.  
When the Master swings open the bedroom door, a big grin on his face, he is drenched almost _entirely_ in blood.   
"You wouldn't _believe_ the breakfast I've had."

 _Human_ blood, Jack might add-- he's familiar enough to actually know that from sight.   
"... Try me."

"It was _delicious_! Oh! Everyone should have an Australian breakfast once in a while." The Master kisses his bloody fingers like a chef and then licks his lips clean. Jack vaguely remembers O’s comment about it having been a while since he’s had Italian. He feels sick.

_Did Koschei have to watch that, too?_

The Master’s manic smile is stained red as he walks on over and trails a sticky, warm finger up Jack's torso before ever-so- _gently_ smearing his hand on his face. Waggling his eyebrows, he leans down close enough that Jack was able to smell rot on his breath. 

"I'd tell you how he screamed, darling," he whispers, almost a moan of a sound with it, "But you’re already looking pale enough.”

The coppery stench is enough to make Jack gag, reminds him of a grimy farm house in the countryside. The same _disgust_ fills his chest, the same _dread_ of being too late to save them that still keeps him awake at night. 

“Australian?”, he manages. “I thought the Doctor was at MI6.”

“Good to know you’re still keeping up.”, the Master praises, patting Jack’s head with a blood-stained hand. “I was afraid I might’ve scrambled your brain- and I need you to be on top of your game for what comes next.” His grin is sinister.

“How do you feel about leaving this room, Captain?”

“Well, that depends entirely on where we’re going.” He watches the Master untie his bonds and tenses up, like a snake coiling to strike. If he overpowers the Master now, by himself, there will be no repercussion for Koschei. It’s ideal—

“Ah, ah, _ah_ , Jackie.” One hand pulling loose the last bit of rope, the Master’s holding up an unfamiliar metal device with the other. Not the laser screwdriver Jack got very well acquainted with on the Valiant. It’s square-ish, the size of a smartphone.   
“I can _hear_ you thinking, but one wrong move, and I’m gonna press a button you would _really_ prefer I didn’t.”  
He gives him a stern look, then smiles widely. “So please, make a wrong move. It would make me—ooh, _very_ happy.”

Jack resigns and wordlessly puts his hands up in surrender. This could _absolutely_ be a bluff, but he can’t risk it and the TARDIS is, as always when the Master is awake, very quiet.

The Master pouts and nods towards the door, nudging Jack’s bare back with the device. “Go on, then.”

Jack moves, stumbles more than he walks with how stiff he is from being tied up in the same position, down what used to be a hotel hallway and is now more similar to the hallway of the Doctor’s Tardis. There’s no elevator, just another door at the end, and behind it, instead if the foyer he walked in through, is—

Wow, alright, that’s a big change.

He’s standing in a messy, yet cozy hut, magazines and papers strewn about, on the wall, on shelves and in cardboard boxes. There’s carpets on the floor, curtains on the windows. It’s very light and warm and … open. He can see the Australian desert through the open door, beckoning him with sunshine and a warm gust of wind.

“Oh, you’ve redecorated.”, he jokes lamely. Truth be told, he’s impressed. He didn’t know how far you could go with disguising a TARDIS, never seen it done before.

The Master walks over to a chair and starts undressing, keeping the device within reach and, no doubt, a close eye on Jack no matter how casual he’s acting. 

“The Doctor and her new _companions_ should be on their way here soon.”, he informs Jack. “I’d _love_ for you to meet the stupid apes who replaced you, but that would spoil the surprise, so I thought of something else. Oh, you’ll love this. Hang on.” He picks up his phone, and a few seconds later an audio message speaks in an unfamiliar voice. 

“ _Hi. It's me. I'm at MI6 with C. Crisis. Big crisis. Serious crisis. Big, serious crisis. And C says you were right and he's sorry for being an idiot._

It takes Jack a second, but he recognises the speech pattern, if not the voice itself. The rambling, the slight lilt to the voice that no-one ever seems to pick up on – perhaps you need to be at least slightly telepathic to hear the accent – _it’s the Doctor._   
His heart starts beating faster, the stupid little thing.

“ _I did not use those words!_ ”, says a voice in the background, probably C. 

“I kill him in a few seconds.” The Master is watching him while he wipes blood off his arms, grinning like he’s impersonating Bruce the shark from Finding Nemo.

“ _Send us your location. Kisses!_ , the Doctor finishes the message, unperturbed.

 _Kisses, really?_ Jack thinks with mild distaste, a completely out of place stab of jealousy for O. _Quite French, that._

“Found a way to text-message across time and space.”, the Master continues, pulling aside a curtain to reveal a desk Jack hadn’t noticed before. A bunch of monitors and equipment are arranged on and around it, perhaps the TARDIS' control panel in disguise.   
“I got that message yesterday, yet I can answer her an _instant_ after she presses send! The future of texting, Jack, isn’t it amazing?” He sounds less erratic, less like the Master, Jack notices. He looks like a normal nerdy dude in boxer shorts, leaning over a keyboard. 

“Talk about instant messaging.”, Jack quips, not sure how to feel. He’s so exhausted, he’d love to sit down, but his anxiety makes him stay on his feet. 

The Master puts on a clean shirt and pants, then a vest to complete the look. He looks utterly harmless. Not quite like Koschei, but O is back.

“What’s all this for, then?”, Jack asks, gesturing around the room.

“We got a bit of an alien problem, you see. And I don’t mean the Doctor.” ‘O’ stops himself, turns, and flashes Jack another grin that almost looks _too_ normal.   
“But why don’t you two find out together? She’ll be decoding my message as we speak. Come along, love.”

He opens a door in the back of the hut, and Jack glances out at the desert longingly for just a second longer before he goes inside. It’s a small room with a chair and a table, on which two monitors show the hut and its surroundings through various camera angles.

“You’ll be able to witness all the fun from here. I’m almost jealous, it’ll be quite the show. Might go horribly wrong, but.” He chuckles. “That’ll just make it all the more exciting, hmm? –Ah, my two friends from the city are arriving. They better not see you. The room is soundproof, and will shield our senses from that ... irritating aura of yours, but if you try anything, I _will_ know.”

He’s halfway out the door before Jack finds his voice.

“Will you kill her?”

It comes out matter-of-factly, a lot more calm and collected than he really feels.

O’s façade slips and the Master bleeds back into his eyes. “Not _yet_ , Captain, not _yet_. But don’t get _too_ attached to her companions.”

The door shuts, locks, and Jack sinks down into the chair.

It’s a comfortable office chair, adjustable and all, and Jack allows himself to sit and breathe for a moment while he gets acquainted with the images on the monitors. ‘O’ is sitting down in front of the hut, now flanked by the two Australian agents, a man and a woman in uniform.

This is probably the best position for Jack to be in right now, on the inside, with direct access to what’s happening. Even if he can’t intervene, at least he’ll be able to stay on top of things, figure out what the Master is planning. When Koschei does come out again, perhaps they can come up with a counter plan.

His thought process stops in his tracks when the TARDIS materializes on screen. 

“Worth racing up from the city just for that.”, he hears the male agent say.

The woman nods in agreement. “Got to be a trick, right? Projection? Mirrors?”

O gets up, no doubt with a condescending smile on his face, and faces the TARDIS.

“Say hello to the Doctor.”, he says, voice soft and unctuous. And then the door opens.

Jack leans forward and squints at the screen, but he has to wait for the figures to approach before he can make out their faces. One of them is short, blonde, and wearing a gray coat over a shirt with a rainbow stripe. Are those suspenders? Even if he hadn’t know that the Doctor is now female, he would’ve recognized her by her fashion sense.   
He finds himself smiling, warmth blooming in his chest.

“I see you decoded the fish.”, O says. “Fancy a cuppa?“

„Very much. Hello. This is my friend, Graham.” There’s the voice from the recording. _Her_ voice. Jack puts on the headphones that lie on the desk and plugs them in while ‘O’ introduces himself to Graham. He’s old, for a companion. _Well._. Not as old as him. Still, Jack wonders where she met him.   
He seems a bit socially awkward; Jack likes him immediately.

O introduces the agents, too, Seesay and Browning.

“We're under orders to keep all of you safe.”, Seesay states, and Jack finds himself murmuring “Safe from what?” At the same time as Graham.

“Not sure.” That’s the other one, the woman.

“You're going to be a right lot of help, then, aren't you?”

There goes the Doctor, starting to diss the humans the moment she arrives on the scene. Jack’s smile widens, and the intensity with which he misses her manifests as a physical pain in his chest.

He watches her make herself at home and walk right past O - _The Master_ , he forcefully reminds himself -, who smiles defeatedly in a way that makes a shiver run down Jack’s spine from the _threat_ it holds.

Jack changes cameras; they’re inside the hut now, where Jack stood mere minutes ago. 

‘O’ pours the promised tea, all innocent, bantering with the Doctor about the state of the place. How comfortable she is around him. Doesn’t she sense it? Doesn’t she _know_ she’s in the presence of another timelord? Maybe it’s something he did, just like he can keep her from sensing Jack’s … wrongness.

“What is all this stuff?”, Graham asks, earning him another point in Jack’s book. 

“The full MI6 record of the unexplained, as compiled by me. Human disappearances, sightings of unidentified objects, mysterious beings, possible alien incursions going back centuries. And a complete   
set of Fortean Times in mint condition.”, O lists off while Graham and the Doctor look around the room. 

Graham even puts on reading glasses. _Sexy._  
Jack tears his eyes away and watches the Master’s face instead.

“Look at all the evidence I gathered. And they just _mocked_ me.”

“No one’s mocking you now.”, the Doctor chimes in, always supportive, always encouraging.  
 _Fuck_ , he’s missed her.

Then, there’s a flash of _something_ on O’s face, gone so quickly Jack wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t stood right in front of one of the hidden cameras.   
_Right._ , Jack thinks, shuddering as he recalls his little 10 Things I Hate About You bit. _Someone does n o t like being mocked._

“I heard C was shot.”, _says the guy by whom C was shot_. “I have been monitoring the chatter, Doctor. Is it aliens? Aliens attacking spies all over the world?”

How flawlessly he plays his role. Eyes wide and soft, so sincerely concerned. Jack understands why he’s here, now. Not just to be hurt for entertainment, but to admire. The Master wants an audience while he pulls off the coup of the century.

Jack reminds himself to pay attention when the Doctor replies. 

“And rewriting their DNA.”

 _Aliens that rewrite DNA?_ that doesn’t ring a bell.

“That's-- terrifying.”, O remarks. “But-- wow. Why would they do that?”

“I don't know. They almost infiltrated my TARDIS as we were taking off. I thought you might have something in your research banks that might give us some clues.“

Aliens which the Doctor doesn’t know, which can enter the _TARDIS_? That’s lots of bad news. Jack has a sinking feeling in his gut.

On screen, Graham pulls aside the curtain that reveals the monitors. “Wow! This is some set-up. Paranoid, are we?“ 

_Good on you_ , Jack silently cheers him on. _Being suspicious._

The Master seems briefly irritated by the suspicion, fixing his hair, a slight hesitance in his voice.   
“… No. I prefer cautious. I like to know if anything's watching me.” 

“Hello to you, too.”, Jack murmurs.

“And if you're already in the middle of all of this, how do you know they won't follow you here?”, O goes on. “How do you know you haven't become targets too?”

The Doctor looks as worried as Jack feels. If only she knew _whose_ target she is. 

He’s cold. It’s warm outside, but not inside the monitor room, and he’s still wearing nothing but pants. Jack takes off the headphones and unplugs them so he can keep listening to what’s being said, then walks around the room, takes time to stretch his legs, his entire body. 

It feels good to be able to move, he should take advantage while he can—even though he’s still got those annoying shakes. Is it the general _fubar_ situation he’s in, or does his nervous system have a hard time catching up with the trauma while the rest of his body has already healed? How does physical trauma continue to affect the brain even when all evidence is erased? It’s not the first time he’s getting phantom pains from wounds that _would_ still be there if he were _normal_. 

Oh well. There are no answers, and there never will be. Downside of being _unique_.

He does a couple push-ups and paces around the room while Graham, the Doctor and ‘O’ keep talking quietly amongst themselves, nothing really important. Jack listens to them, especially to the Doctor’s voice, then just lies flat on his stomach and closes his eyes, letting her new diction and inflections wash over him like a lullaby. He doesn’t let himself nod off, but it’s good to just relax.

He learns that there are two other companions, a young man and woman called Ryan and Yasmin, currently investigating Daniel Barton, the CEO of _VOR_ \-- a digital company Jack was of course acquainted with, but whose products and services Torchwood had never used. After the Archangel Network, he’d been _very_ particular about which kind of tech they used and how they kept themselves safe and separate from any kind of spyware.

When the sun goes down, Jack sits back down at the desk, watching the two Australian agents while they watch their surroundings

“This place, it's open and flat and empty the whole way round. So why does it feel like there are things moving out there?“, says Browning, the female agent. Jack plugs in the headphones again and squints into the grainy darkness. If anything _is_ out there, the cameras aren’t showing it—until there’s a _flash_ of white as the external lights turn on, temporarily overwhelming the camera. Jack plays around with the adjustments and watches O, Graham and the Doctor rush to the surveillance screens.

“What just happened? Two movement sensors tripped.”, O supplies. Jack chews on his lip, listening to any noise the mics pick up. He can’t see or hear anything, except for more of the movement sensors activating. Great. _Love_ an invisible enemy.

“What have you brought here, Doctor?” O sounds scared, and for a second Jack wonders if the Master _does_ know what he’s dealing with. Is there a reason he wanted the Doctor around for this, besides earning her trust? Or this this just part of his role? Jack _knows_ it’s all façade, and he _still_ can’t tell. _Damn_ he’s good.

“I don't know. Let's take a look outside.”, says the Doctor, being the Doctor, already headed out. The other timelord follows suit while Graham’s observing the screen. 

“Looking outside was actually quite low on my list.” Heh. He’s got an unusual sense of self-preservation for someone traveling with the Doctor. “But when does she ever listen to me?” Jack chuckles as Graham throws his arms up in defeat to no-one in particular, and follows them outside.

The Doctor ignores the agents’ protests and scans the surroundings with little success.

“You didn't get any readings off that thing in the TARDIS either.” Graham’s remark makes Jack worry again. What kind of alien can breach the ship’s shields? One does not simply walk into a TARDIS.

“Exactly. There's something. It's like I can sense them.” _Unlike me, or the fact that the man next to you is a timelord._ , Jack thinks, bitterly.

“I know what you mean.” O’s even looking at her as he speaks. _Come on, Doctor. He’s Right There._

“They're out there, hiding. Tripping the sensors to let us know that they're here. It's like they're watching us.”, the Doctor recapitulates, but unlike usually, that doesn’t seem to narrow it down for her. She’s not even making suggestions of what it could be. 

Jack goes through his own mental checklist and comes up empty. Weeping Angels, maybe? No, they would’ve either spotted them already or be dead. And Jack, too, because the image of an angel-- anyway. The species and races he’s dealt with are usually very upfront about their intentions.

“Like animals stalking their prey.”, O murmurs, earning him some horrified looks. “--Sorry, that … wasn't helpful.”

“Little on the nose.”, Jack murmurs, chuckling despite himself. The Australians finally order them to go back inside, and Jack’s grateful she complies, with a little nudging from Graham.

Suddenly, something _bright_ appears outside. Even through the camera, Jack has to squint as he’s blinded by the light. Whatever it is seems to come closer, multiply. The Doctor, of course, runs right back outside. Jack tenses up, on the edge of his seat, and _wills_ her to get back to safety. To his surprise and relief, O does the same. 

“We can't fight them out here, Doctor. Strategic retreat.“

Among the chaos, it takes Jack a moment to realize that the agents are gone. 

There’s nothing left of them.


	8. An Uneasy Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoever those creatures are, they have a plan. So does the Master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Things get a bit wibbly-wobbly-paradoxy in this one, but eh, it's Doctor Who. For a Whovian, suspension of disbelief is in the job description.  
> It's also a bit short but that's because it refused to write itself! So many things to consider! --anyway. I think I'll stick to weekly updates from now on.
> 
> Enjoy! x

_“They've just obliterated those bodies. What can they be?“_

Jack’s still staring at the screens in disbelief while the Doctor talks. He knew the agents wouldn’t last long, but it’s hard to watch without the chance to help.

The figures are coming closer, and O is connecting a laptop to the surveillance system/TARDIS control panel, obviously a man with a plan. 

“They're surrounding the building, look.” 

“That's what we want.”

“Do we?”

“Yeah. Just a little closer.”

Jack holds his breath, though he’s relieved the Master seems to know what he's doing. That should mean they’re safe, for now.  
They all wait while the tension grows, then O slams a button and activates the TARDIS’ outer shields, or rather his homestead’s ‘Security Fence’ which would fry most corporeal beings. 

The screens flicker as the power is drained. Jack exhales slowly when the beings of light seem to get stuck in the honeycomb fence and disappear, all but one.  
He doesn’t believe, even for a second, that they were killed—more likely that they retreated, and the Doctor thinks the same.

“How did you know that would work?”, Graham asks.

“I didn't.” Jack can see O’s eyes on screen, wide and panicked, but the rest of him is almost unnaturally calm. “ _Gambled_.”   
Jack believes him entirely.

He tears his eyes away from what he thinks may have been a hint of Koschei coming through, when Graham points at the one glowing entity that remained.  
“No, no, look. There's one still outside.”

 _That can't be good, right?_ A singular one would be easier to capture, though. Is that what he's attempting?

‘O’ needs a second to get his bearings, he’s pressing his fingertips against his temples. Now Jack is certain that Koschei has been acting up, and hope blooms in his chest.   
“-- Plan B. I've- I’ve got a plan B. It's in the-- blueprints, Doctor. Just under the folder. I rigged it in case anything got past the first line of defense.” He’s stuttering slightly, sounding _so much_ like his counterpart that for a second, Jack wonders.

Then he watches in horror as the being comes in through the wall, slowly pushing through. The filing cabinet's colors and shapes sort of .. mingle and melt around its form before it passes through and they disappear.   
“It's coming through the wall! How can it do that?”

“ Well, physical boundaries don't stop it, but it's still not used to this planet, or maybe even this reality…”

_Am I safe in here?_ Jack briefly wonders, glancing at the walls surrounding him while the Doctor looks at the blueprints she’s found and spread out.   
“Spring-loaded?”

“Yep.”   
The Master sounds determined—if he wasn’t in control before, he is now. 

When the being takes another step towards them, the Doctor points her screwdriver at the ceiling and something large drops down with a loud _Clang_ , containing the creature.

“Re-route the charge! We've got to keep it in there.”, the Doctor yells, while the Master’s already on it, fussing with the controls. “A bit quicker!”

Jack winces at the way she talks to him, has to remind himself that she doesn’t know. “ _Yes_ , doing my best.”, The Master quips back, no longer hiding his annoyance. 

“That thing can't hold it.“, Graham remarks, eyes fixed on the cage.

 _… No_ , Jack realizes with a sudden jolt. _Because it was built for me._

The second the thought crosses his mind, O hits a button and the being is hit with electricity from all sides.   
It _screams_ , and for a moment that’s all Jack can hear as he watches it convulse.

“It worked! It actually... it actually worked..!” The Master’s grin is gone as quickly as it appeared, but Jack knows he enjoyed the display.

The Doctor straightens her shoulders and heads towards the cage, as always the first to confront the enemy. 

“Who are you? What are you doing to the people on this planet?” 

The creature seems subdued, the noise it makes a dull hum, reminding Jack of the cannibalized TARDIS.   
Also, of the containment tank the MI5 has built for the 456 not too long ago.

If the Master had his fingers in that, it makes sense why the tech would look similar. Jack pushes the thought away and shuts his eyes tightly for a moment, trying to focus.

“Why are you changing their DNA? And why spies? Why are you only attacking spies?” They’ve entered interrogation mode. The creature doesn’t reply, but at least Jack learns something from the questions that are being asked. _Changing DNA?_

“What are you, exactly, except for reluctant to talk?“

“I’m thinking one more blast.” That’s the Master again, of course, always willing to torture.

The Doctor doesn’t react to the comment. “How many are you, in your race or-- species or whatever you are? Where are you from?“

 _This_ time, the thing replies, in a deep, booming voice that makes the hair on Jack’s neck stand up.   
“ _Far beyond._ ”

The Master tilts his head with a curious gleam in his eyes. _He really has no idea, does he?_

“So you _can_ communicate, then. Beyond where?”

The creature _laughs_. Jack doesn’t like _that_ one bit.   
“ _Your understanding._ ”

“Think it’s laughing at you, Doc.”, Graham remarks. Jack snorts. He wouldn’t mind too much if the Master made good on his threat of one more blast.

“Is this your native form, wherever it is you're from? Is this what you look like at home?”, the Doctor continues to question.

“We take this form to _mock_ you. Your shape amuses us.“

At least they don’t seem to know that the Doctor isn’t human. That’s one comfort floating on the sea of the unknown. If they’re from “beyond”-- beyond N-space? Beyond this dimension?-- and can change DNA, who knows what else they can tell about their surroundings just by interacting with them?

“We are stable now. We are ready.”

 _We are coming._ , the voice of a hundred children echoes in Jack’s mind.

“What does that mean, stable? Ready for what?”

“To take this.”

“To take this what? Hut? Country? Planet?!”

Jack looks at the Master and knows the answer before he hears it through the speakers.

“ _Universe_.”

***

That’s it, then.

Another alien invasion, aided, if not conducted, by the Master.   
Another attempt to take over the universe-- starting with Earth, apparently, and again they know _nothing_ about what’s coming.

Jack bangs his fist on the table and curses.

This thing will run itself, with or without the Master’s help. Koschei getting stronger will still be an advantage, but not enough to _stop_ this.   
The Doctor’s here, though. That’s enough to inspire hope in Jack, and hope is all he needs.

These creatures, what do they want? Rule the universe or end it?

He pulls himself together and watches the screen, where the Doctor in turn watches the trapped creature.

“Interesting. That glow's increasing. Life getting more intense?”

“It’s fighting back,” O suggests.

“Or something’s going on.”

O has turned towards the desk again, typing away on his laptop, and Jack can see how tense he is. That’s _real._   
_Even if he's working with these creatures, Now he's threatening one and he doesn't know what it's gonna do next. Ooh, that's one uneasy alliance._

“This isn't good, Doctor. It's trying to overload my systems.” He jerks back with a pained shout when he’s hit by an electric shock, and Jack’s fairly certain _that’s_ not part of the plan, even though the timelord recovers fast. “It's like it's taken a suicide pill.“

Interestingly, O shields the Doctor’s body as the glow grows stronger and the creature erupts into light. It’s the last thing Jack sees before he has to look away from the screen, the light too bright. 

When it fades, the being is gone, and there’s … _huh_. There’s a young woman standing in the tank.

The Doctor’s face lights up with recognition. “Yaz! --Turn the power off in there.”

“It's already blown out.”

Jack tilts his head. That’s companion number two, then.

“Yaz! How are you even here?”

Before anyone can say anything futher, the Doctor’s phone rings. Companion number three, Jack assumes. What was his name? Ryan?

The Doctor takes the call and nods. “Yaz? I've got her. We're coming for you now.”

She turns off the phone, and Jack watches as the tank is lifted, freeing the woman. Yaz looks relieved and happy to see the Doctor, Jack half expects her to fall into her arms, and watches with some surprise when she doesn't. _Not getting a lot of hugs this time around?_

While Graham approaches to greet her as well, Jack freezes when the Master looks right at him through the camera ...

And smirks.

***

When the Doctor, Graham and Yaz enter the Tardis to go pick up Ryan, the Master steps into Jack’s room. He’s rubbing his hands, his usual overflow of energy back on display.   
“Soooo, Captain. Did you enjoy the show?”

“Can’t say I have. Not all of it.” Jack fights the urge to get up, make sure to stay on his feet like a trapped animal.

“Hmm, well. Anyway, I think I’ll use this me-time for a little nap. What about you, aren’t you tired?”

He _is_. His eyes are burning and he’s exhausted from trying to understand everything that’s going on.

Before he can reply, though, his stomach rumbles, prompting the Master to press a hand to his mouth in shock. “Oh, how thoughtless of me. Have I forgotten to feed you for the entirety of your stay? –I’ll make you a deal, because you’ve played along so nicely today.”

He steps closer, and Jack watches him warily. 

“Sleep or eat. You get to do one of the two.” He reaches out and pats Jack’s head, then- “Make your choice.”- curls his fingers into his hair and _yanks_ his head back.

Jack reacts instinctively since he’s no longer bound, grabbing the Master’s arm and pushing him away. He’s met with a lot more resistance than he expected —he forgets how _strong_ timelords are when they want to be--, but manages to shove him, only realizing what he’s done when the Master regains his footing, a flicker of surprise turning into laughter and then a sharp, menacing grin at the immortal, who is now on his feet, tense and ready to strike.

“I’ll take that as a No for both.”, the Master says softly, and the next thing Jack knows something _zaps_ through his entire body, an electric current so strong it makes him crumble to the floor-- aching and disoriented-- before it’s gone as suddenly as it appeared. He's hit his head hard. Didn’t even have time to scream. 

“Remember that childhood game, the floor is lava?”, the Master grins, stepping up to Jack’s face, close enough for Jack to see the rubber soles of his shoes appear in his blurry field of vision. _Ah._ Jack himself is barefoot, he didn't stand a chance.

“This is similar, only the floor is _lightning_ and there's, oh, nothing _but_ floor to stand on.”

The Timelord grabs the only chair in the room and drags it outside, cackling before the door falls shut.

Jack takes a few deep breaths and pushes himself upright. There’s a countdown on one of the monitors. 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … --before he has the chance to do anything, he’s getting zapped again, less intense than the last one but painful enough all the same. 

The room is bare except for the desk, which is conveniently made from conductive metal, and the screens on which the countdown has reset itself to thirty seconds.

Jack clenches his jaw, settles down and prepares for a rough night.

***

Twenty shocks later, all alternating in length and intensity, someone quietly opens the door. A switch is flipped, and the Countdown shuts off.

“Jack.” 

Koschei’s voice is soft in the darkness of the room, through the rushing of blood in Jack’s ears. His muscles still twitch with aftershocks when a warm hand settles gently on his bare shoulder.  
It takes everything he has not to shove him away.   
He should make for the door. _Now_. And then what? Whereto in the darkness, in the desert?

“We have no time. I’m—I’m so sorry, but I need your help.”

“Help with what?”, Jack murmurs, eyes closed. Give him a moment, he'll recover. “When the Doctor comes back, I can go with her. We can stop this together.”

Koschei shakes his head determinedly. “No, no, no. The Master has plans for if that happens. He’s shown them to me in detail, Jack, you can’t. You’d never forgive yourself.”

“He’s working with those creatures, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. They’re called the Kasaavin. I don’t think he really knows what they are, but they’re allies. And you’ve seen what they can do. If his plan goes wrong, it’ll all be over even sooner, don’t you see?”

Jack forces his eyes open to meet Koschei's and nods tiredly.   
“Why is there never an easy solution to anything?”, he murmurs—it comes out as a sigh. 

“You could kill me.”, Koschei says quietly. “Wouldn’t stop the invasion, but then you’d have a chance.”

Jack stills and observes the timelord’s face, realizes that he _means_ it. And just for a second, he considers.

Then he hears Steven and Alice, _screaming_ in his mind.

A small sacrifice, to save _millions_ , and yet … he’ll never forgive himself.

“You’re her best friend. That’s not my call to make.”, he says with a shake of his head. 

Koschei stays silent, so Jack continues. “What _would_ he do if I got away?”

“ … Mess with your past.” Koschei pauses, and Jack knows he’s double checking that the Master is asleep. “Where the people you loved are still alive. He’d find them, back in time.”

“He’d cause a paradox.”

“Not if he extracts them shortly before their timelines end. He could—hold them in stasis, here on the ship. Hurt them for a _long_ time before he returns them to their death. Or, yeah. Cause a paradox. He’s done it before.”

Koschei’s hand tightens on Jack’s shoulder before he lets go so suddenly as if he only just realized he’s touching him.

Jack groans and runs a hand over his face. “How _do_ I keep him from coming after me until the end of time?” after a brief pause, he adds: “ _Without_ killing you.”

“Make sure he doesn’t have a TARDIS when this is all over.”

Koschei takes a deep breath and smiles. “But right now, we’re going to use that TARDIS to save the Doctor. Something’s going to happen tomorrow, and I won’t be there. I’m ... ugh, _really_ tired.”

He probably doesn’t sleep, Jack realizes. Always awake to see what’s happening, then using the time when the _Master_ sleeps to help Jack. 

“What do you need?”

"The Master works with Barton, the CEO of VOR. I imagine he will have a meeting with him tomorrow, and he wants the Doctor out of the way. He's been building a sonic proof bomb."

Jack looks at him in horror. What's he gonna do, blow her up? "I don't know a lot about bombs. Well, I do, I can look at them and tell you within two seconds whether or not I can disarm them. And the answer is usually 'No, so get the hell out of here'."

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about the bomb.", Koschei nods calmly. "It's too late now, but we can send something to the Doctor, in the future, after she already survived. Then she can go back and make sure to put into place all the things that helped her survive."

Jack's head hurts. "Wait, hold on. We're ensuring that she will survive by _assuming_ that she does? I know time gets wibbly-wobbly like that, but that's one hell of a paradox to depend her life on."

"No, not entirely. You know how the Master's been texting her across time? Well, she's online in the future. That means she's alive there. Same profile pic and everything." Koschei's actually smiling, now. "She's going to survive. But now that we know that, we need to figure out how she got there."

 _What if you had checked that and seen that she's dead in the future?_ , Jack briefly thinks, but he doesn't entertain the thought. He's talking to a _Timelord_. It's safe to assume that Lords knows a little bit more about the subject than Agents. Ex-Agents.

"What are we going to send her? How To Survive An Explosion 101?" _Step one: Make sure you're a fixed point in spacetime and you'll grow back from what's left of you._

"Almost. I need you to program an app." Koschei hands him a factory-fresh smartphone. "--Jack, you’ve been a pilot.”

Jack blinks, surprised. “... Yeah?”

“If you had to fly a plane without a cockpit, how would you do it?”


End file.
